Is call’d the Mistress of the Night,[337] So like a bride, scented and bright, She comes out when the sun’s away;— Amaranths, such as crown the maids That wander through ZAMARA’S shades;[338]— And the white moon-flower, as it shows, On SERENDIB’S high crags, to those Who near the isle at evening sail, Scenting her clove-trees in the gale; In short, all flow’rets and all plants, From the divine Amrita tree,[339] That blesses heaven’s inhabitants With fruits of immortality, Down to the basil tuft,[340] that waves Its fragrant blossom over graves, And to the humble rosemary, Whose sweets so thanklessly are shed To scent the desert[341] and the dead:— All in that garden bloom, and all Are gather’d by young NOURMAHAL, Who heaps her baskets with the flowers And leaves, till they can hold no more; Then to NAMOUNA flies, and showers Upon her lap the shining store. With what delight the’ Enchantress views So many buds, bath’d with the dews And beams of that bless’d hour!—her glance Spoke something, past all mortal pleasures, As, in a kind of holy trance, She hung above those fragrant treasures, Bending to drink their balmy airs, As if she mix’d her soul with theirs. And ’twas, indeed, the perfume shed From flow’rs and scented flame, that fed Her charmèd life—for none had e’er Beheld her taste of mortal fare, Nor ever in aught earthly dip, But the morn’s dew, her roseate lip. Fill’d with the cool, inspiring smell, The’ Enchantress now begins her spell, Thus singing as she winds and weaves In mystic form the glittering leaves:— -------------- I know where the winged visions dwell That around the night-bed play; I know each herb and flow’ret’s bell, Where they hide their wings by day. Then hasten we, maid, To twine our braid, To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade. The image of love, that nightly flies To visit the bashful maid, Steals from the jasmine flower, that sighs Its soul, like her, in the shade. The dream of a future, happier hour, That alights on misery’s brow, Springs out of the silvery almond-flower, That blooms on a leafless bough.[342] Then hasten we, maid, To twine our braid, To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade. The visions, that oft to worldly eyes The glitter of mines unfold, Inhabit the mountain-herb,[343] that dyes The tooth of the fawn like gold. The phantom shapes—oh touch not them— That appal the murderer’s sight, Lurk in the fleshly mandrake’s stem, That shrieks, when pluck’d at night! Then hasten we, maid, To twine our braid, To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade.