Thus saying, from her lips she spread Unearthly breathings through the place, And shook her sparkling wreath, and shed Such lustre o’er each paly face, That like two lovely saints they seem’d, Upon the eve of doomsday taken From their dim graves, in odour sleeping; While that benevolent PERI beam’d Like their good angel, calmly keeping Watch o’er them till their souls would waken. But morn is blushing in the sky; Again the PERI soars above, Bearing to Heaven that precious sigh Of pure self-sacrificing love. High throbb’d her heart, with hope elate, The’ Elysian palm she soon shall win, For the bright Spirit at the gate Smil’d as she gave that offering in; And she already hears the trees Of Eden, with their crystal bells Ringing in that ambrosial breeze That from the throne of ALLA swells; And she can see the starry bowls That lie around that lucid lake, Upon whose banks admitted Souls Their first sweet draught of glory take![184] But, ah! even PERIS’ hopes are vain— Again the Fates forbade, again The’ immortal barrier clos’d—“Not yet,” The Angel said as, with regret, He shut from her that glimpse of glory— “True was the maiden, and her story, “Written in light o’er ALLA’S head, “By seraph eyes shall long be read. “But, PERI, see—the crystal bar “Of Eden moves not—holier far “Than even this sigh the boon must be “That opes the Gates of Heaven for thee.” Now, upon SYRIA’S land of roses[185] Softly the light of Eve reposes, And, like a glory, the broad sun Hangs over sainted LEBANON; Whose head in wintry grandeur towers, And whitens with eternal sleet, While summer, in a vale of flowers, Is sleeping rosy at his feet. To one, who look’d from upper air O’er all the’ enchanted regions there, How beauteous must have been the glow, The life, the sparkling from below! Fair gardens, shining streams, with ranks Of golden melons on their banks, More golden where the sun-light falls; Gay lizards, glittering on the walls[186] Of ruin’d shrines, busy and bright As they were all alive with light; And, yet more splendid, numerous flocks Of pigeons, settling on the rocks, With their rich restless wings, that gleam Variously in the crimson beam Of the warm West,—as if inlaid With brilliants from the mine, or made Of tearless rainbows, such as span The’ unclouded skies of PERISTAN. And then the mingling sounds that come Of shepherd’s ancient reed,[187] with hum Of the wild bees of PALESTINE,[188] Banqueting through the flowery vales; And, JORDAN, those sweet banks of thine, And woods, so full of nightingales.[189]