Within her chamber thus secure, By virtue guarded, chaste and pure, The lamp of faith, incessant burning, The VIRGIN'S image blest illumed, The comfort of the spirit mourning And trust of those to sorrow doomed. The holy symbol's face reflected The rays of hope in splendour bright, And the rapt soul by faith directed To regions of eternal light. Maria, near the VIRGIN kneeling, In silence gave her anguish way, Unnoticed by the crowd unfeeling, And whilst the rest, or sad or gay, Wasted in idleness the day, The sacred image still concealing, Before it pouring forth her prayer, She watched with ever jealous care; Even as our hearts to error given, Yet lighted by a spark from heaven, Howe'er from virtue's paths we swerve, One holy feeling still preserve. * * * * * Now night invests with black apparel Luxurious Tauride's verdant fields, Whilst her sweet notes from groves of laurel The plaintive Philomela yields. But soon night's glorious queen, advancing Through cloudless skies to the stars' song, Scatters the hills and dales along, The lustre of her rays entrancing. In Bakchesaria's streets roamed free The Tartars' wives in garb befitting, They like unprisoned shades were flitting From house to house their friends to see, And while the evening hours away In harmless sports or converse gay. The inmates of the harem slept;-- Still was the palace, night impending O'er all her silent empire kept; The eunuch guard, no more offending The fair ones by his presence, now Slumbered, but fear his soul attending Troubled his rest and knit his brow; Suspicion kept his fancy waking, And on his mind incessant preyed, The air the slightest murmur breaking Assailed his ear with sounds of dread. Now, by some noise deceitful cheated, Starts from his sleep the timid slave, Listens to hear the noise repeated, But all is silent as the grave, Save where the fountains softly sounding Break from their marble prisons free, Or night's sweet birds the scene surrounding Pour forth their notes of melody: Long does he hearken to the strain, Then sinks fatigued in sleep again. Luxurious East! how soft thy nights, What magic through the soul they pour! How fruitful they of fond delights To those who Mahomet adore! What splendour in each house is found, Each garden seems enchanted ground; Within the harem's precincts quiet Beneath fair Luna's placid ray, When angry feelings cease to riot There love inspires with softer sway! * * * *