But if for me thou dost forsake Some other maid, and rudely break Her worshipp’d image from its base, To give to me the ruin’d place;— Then, fare thee well—I’d rather make My bower upon some icy lake When thawing suns begin to shine, Than trust to love so false as thine! -------------- There was a pathos in this lay, That, e’en without enchantment’s art, Would instantly have found its way Deep into SELIM’S burning heart; But, breathing, as it did, a tone To earthly lutes and lips unknown; With every chord fresh from the touch Of Music’s Spirit,—’twas too much! Starting, he dash’d away the cup,— Which, all the time of this sweet air, His hand had held, untasted, up, As if ’twere fix’d by magic there,— And naming her, so long unnam’d, So long unseen, wildly exclaim’d, “Oh NOURMAHAL! oh NOURMAHAL! “Hadst thou but sung this witching strain, “I could forget—forgive thee all, “And never leave those eyes again.” The mask is off—the charm is wrought— And SELIM to his heart has caught, In blushes, more than ever bright, His NOURMAHAL, his Haram’s Light! And well do vanish’d frowns enhance The charm of every brightened glance; And dearer seems each dawning smile For having lost its light awhile: And, happier now for all her sighs, As on his arm her head reposes, She whispers him with laughing eyes, “Remember, love, the Feast of Roses!” ------------------------------------------------------------------------