Light as the angel shapes that bless An infant’s dream, yet not the less Rich in all woman’s loveliness;— With eyes so pure, that from their ray Dark Vice would turn abash’d away, Blinded like serpents, when they gaze Upon the emerald’s virgin blaze;[226]— Yet fill’d with all youth’s sweet desires, Mingling the meek and vestal fires Of other worlds with all the bliss, The fond, weak tenderness of this: A soul, too, more than half divine, Where, through some shades of earthly feeling. Religion’s soften’d glories shine, Like light through summer foliage stealing, Shedding a glow of such mild hue, So warm, and yet so shadowy too, As makes the very darkness there More beautiful than light elsewhere. Such is the maid who, at this hour, Hath risen from her restless sleep, And sits alone in that high bower, Watching the still and shining deep. Ah! ’twas not thus,—with tearful eyes And beating heart,—she used to gaze On the magnificent earth and skies, In her own land, in happier days. Why looks she now so anxious down Among those rocks, whose rugged frown Blackens the mirror of the deep? Whom waits she all this lonely night? Too rough the rocks, too bold the steep, For man to scale that turret’s height!— So deem’d at least her thoughtful sire, When high, to catch the cool night-air, After the day-beam’s withering fire,[227] He built her bower of freshness there, And had it deck’d with costliest skill, And fondly thought it safe as fair:— Think, reverend dreamer! think so still, Nor wake to learn what Love can dare;— Love, all-defying Love, who sees No charm in trophies won with ease;— Whose rarest, dearest fruits of bliss Are pluck’d on Danger’s precipice! Bolder than they who dare not dive For pearls, but when the sea’s at rest, Love, in the tempest most alive, Hath ever held that pearl the best He finds beneath the stormiest water. Yes—ARABY’S unrivall’d daughter, Though high that tower, that rock-way rude, There’s one who, but to kiss thy cheek, Would climb the’ untrodden solitude Of ARARAT’S tremendous peak,[228] And think its steeps, though dark and dread, Heaven’s pathways, if to thee they led! Even now thou seest the flashing spray, That lights his oar’s impatient way;— Even now thou hear’st the sudden shock Of his swift bark against the rock, And stretchest down thy arms of snow, As if to lift him from below! Like her to whom, at dead of night, The bridegroom, with his locks of light,[229] Came, in the flush of love and pride, And scal’d the terrace of his bride;— When, as she saw him rashly spring, And midway up in danger cling, She flung him down her long black hair, Exclaiming, breathless, “There, love, there!” And scarce did manlier nerve uphold The hero ZAL in that fond hour, Than wings the youth who, fleet and bold,