“Oh, my lov’d mistress, thou, whose spirit still “Is with me, round me, wander where I will— “It is for thee, for thee alone I seek “The paths of glory; to light up thy cheek “With warm approval—in that gentle look “To read my praise, as in an angel’s book, “And think all toils rewarded, when from thee “I gain a smile worth immortality! “How shall I bear the moment when restor’d “To that young heart where I alone am Lord, “Though of such bliss unworthy,—since the best “Alone deserve to be the happiest;— “When from those lips, unbreath’d upon for years, “I shall again kiss off the soul-felt tears, “And find those tears warm as when last they started, “Those sacred kisses pure as when we parted? “O my own life!—why should a single day, “A moment keep me from those arms away?” While thus he thinks, still nearer on the breeze Come those delicious, dream-like harmonies, Each note of which but adds new, downy links To the soft chain in which his spirit sinks. He turns him tow’rd the sound, and far away Through a long vista, sparkling with the play Of countless lamps,—like the rich track which Day Leaves on the waters, when he sinks from us, So long the path, its light so tremulous;— He sees a group of female forms advance, Some chain’d together in the mazy dance By fetters, forg’d in the green sunny bowers, As they were captives to the King of Flowers;[78] And some disporting round, unlink’d and free, Who seem’d to mock their sisters’ slavery; And round and round them still, in wheeling flight, Went, like gay moths about a lamp at night; While others walk’d, as gracefully along Their feet kept time, the very soul of song, From psaltery, pipe, and lutes of heavenly thrill, Or their own youthful voices, heavenlier still. And now they come, now pass before his eye, Forms such as Nature moulds, when she would vie With Fancy’s pencil, and give birth to things Lovely beyond its fairest picturings. Awhile they dance before him, then divide, Breaking, like rosy clouds at even-tide Around the rich pavilion of the sun,— Till silently dispersing, one by one Through many a path, that from the chamber leads To gardens, terraces, and moonlight meads, Their distant laughter comes upon the wind, And but one trembling nymph remains behind,— Beck’ning them back in vain, for they are gone, And she is left in all that light alone; No veil to curtain o’er her beauteous brow, In its young bashfulness more beauteous now; But a light golden chain-work round her hair,[79] Such as the maids of YEZD[80] and SHIRAS wear, From which, on either side, gracefully hung A golden amulet, in the Arab tongue, Engraven o’er with some immortal line From Holy Writ, or bard scarce less divine; While her left hand, as shrinkingly she stood, Held a small lute of gold and sandal-wood, Which, once or twice, she touch’d with hurried strain,