THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS.

‘ Tis moonlight over OMAN'S SEA; Her banks of pearl and palmy isles Bask in the night-beam beauteously And her blue waters sleep in smiles.

‘ Tis moonlight in HARMOZIA'Swalls, And through her EMIR'S porphyry halls Where some hours since was heard the swell Of trumpets and the clash of zel

Bidding the bright-eyed sun farewell;— The peaceful sun whom better suits The music of the bulbul's nest Or the light touch of lovers’ lutes

To sing him to his golden rest. All husht — there's not a breeze in motion; The shore is silent as the ocean. If zephyrs come, so light they come.

Nor leaf is stirred nor wave is driven;— The wind-tower on the EMIR'S dome Can hardly win a breath from heaven. Even he, that tyrant Arab, sleeps

Calm, while a nation round him weeps, While curses load the air he breathes And falchions from unnumbered sheaths Are starting to avenge the shame

His race hath brought on IRAN'Sname. Hard, heartless Chief, unmoved alike Mid eyes that weep and swords that strike; One of that saintly, murderous brood,

To carnage and the Koran given, Who think thro’ unbelievers’ blood Lies their directest path to heaven,— One who will pause and kneel unshod

In the warm blood his hand hath poured, To mutter o'er some text of God Engraven on his reeking sword; Nay, who can coolly note the line,

The letter of those words divine, To which his blade with searching art Had sunk into its victim's heart! Just ALLA! what must be thy look

When such a wretch before thee stands Unblushing, with thy Sacred Book,— Turning the leaves with bloodstained hands, And wresting from its page sublime

His creed of lust and hate and crime;— Even as those bees of TREBIZOND, Which from the sunniest flowers that glad With their pure smile the gardens round,

Draw venom forth that drives men mad. Never did fierce Arabia send A satrap forth more direly great; Never was IRAN doomed to bend

Beneath a yoke of deadlier weight. Her throne had fallen — her pride was crusht — Her sons were willing slaves, nor blusht, In their own land,— no more their own,—

To crouch beneath a stranger's throne. Her towers where MITHRA once had burned. To Moslem shrines — oh shame!— were turned, Where slaves converted by the sword,

Their mean, apostate worship poured, And curst the faith their sires adored. Yet has she hearts, mid all this ill, O'er all this wreck high buoyant still

With hope and vengeance;— hearts that yet — Like gems, in darkness, issuing rays They've treasured from the sun that's set,— Beam all the light of long-lost days!

And swords she hath, nor weak nor slow To second all such hearts can dare: As he shall know, well, dearly know. Who sleeps in moonlight luxury there,

Tranquil as if his spirit lay Becalmed in Heaven's approving ray. Sleep on — for purer eyes than thine Those waves are husht, those planets shine;

Sleep on and be thy rest unmoved By the white moonbeam's dazzling power;— None but the loving and the loved Should be awake at this sweet hour.

And see — where high above those rocks That o'er the deep their shadows fling. Yon turret stands;— where ebon locks, As glossy as the heron's wing

Upon the turban of a king, Hang from the lattice, long and wild,— ‘ Tis she, that EMIR'S blooming child, All truth and tenderness and grace,

Tho’ born of such ungentle race;— An image of Youth's radiant Fountain Springing in a desolate mountain! Oh what a pure and sacred thing

Is Beauty curtained from the sight Of the gross world, illumining One only mansion with her light! Unseen by man's disturbing eye,—

The flower that blooms beneath the sea, Too deep for sunbeams, doth not lie Hid in more chaste obscurity. So, HINDA. have thy face and mind,

Like holy mysteries, lain enshrined. And oh! what transport for a lover To lift the veil that shades them o'er!— Like those who all at once discover

In the lone deep some fairy shore Where mortal never trod before, And sleep and wake in scented airs No lip had ever breathed but theirs.

Beautiful are the maids that glide On summer-eves thro’ YEMEN'Sdales, And bright the glancing looks they hide Behind their litters’ roseate veils;—

And brides as delicate and fair As the white jasmine flowers they wear, Hath YEMEN in her blissful clime, Who lulled in cool kiosk or bower,

Before their mirrors count the time And grow still lovelier every hour. But never yet hath bride or maid In ARABY'S gay Haram smiled.

Whose boasted brightness would not fade Before AL HASSAN'S blooming child. 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 abasht away, Blinded like serpents when they gaze

Upon the emerald's virgin blaze;— Yet filled 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, thro’ some shades of earthly feeling, Religion's softened glories shine,

Like light thro’ 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 deemed at least her thoughtful sire,

When high, to catch the cool night-air After the day-beam's withering fire, He built her bower of freshness there, And had it deckt 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 plucked 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 unrivalled daughter, Tho’ 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, And think its steeps, tho’ 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 hearest 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 Came in the flush of love and pride

And scaled 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,

Now climbs the rocks to HINDA'S bower. See-light as up their granite steeps The rock-goats of ARABIA clamber, Fearless from crag to crag he leaps,

And now is in the maiden's chamber. She loves — but knows not whom she loves, Nor what his race, nor whence he came;— Like one who meets in Indian groves

Some beauteous bird without a name; Brought by the last ambrosial breeze From isles in the undiscovered seas, To show his plumage for a day

To wondering eyes and wing away! Will he thus fly — her nameless lover? ALLA forbid!‘ twas by a moon As fair as this, while singing over

Some ditty to her soft Kanoon, Alone, at this same witching hour, She first beheld his radiant eyes Gleam thro’ the lattice of the bower,

Where nightly now they mix their sighs; And thought some spirit of the air ( For what could waft a mortal there? ) Was pausing on his moonlight way

To listen to her lonely lay! This fancy ne'er hath left her mind: And — tho’, when terror's swoon had past, She saw a youth of mortal kind

Before her in obeisance cast,— Yet often since, when he hath spoken Strange, awful words,— and gleams have broken From his dark eyes, too bright to bear,

Oh! she hath feared her soul was given To some unhallowed child of air, Some erring spirit cast from heaven, Like those angelic youths of old

Who burned for maids of mortal mould, Bewildered left the glorious skies And lost their heaven for woman's eyes. Fond girl! nor fiend nor angel he

Who woos thy young simplicity; But one of earth's impassioned sons, As warm in love, as fierce in ire As the best heart whose current runs

Full of the Day-God's living fire. But quenched to-night that ardor seems, And pale his cheek and sunk his brow;— Never before but in her dreams

Had she beheld him pale as now: And those were dreams of troubled sleep From which‘ twas joy to wake and weep; Visions that will not be forgot,

But sadden every waking scene Like warning ghosts that leave the spot All withered where they once have been. “How sweetly,” said the trembling maid,

Of her own gentle voice afraid, So long had they in silence stood Looking upon that tranquil flood — “How sweetly does the moonbeam smile

“To-night upon yon leafy isle! “Oft, in my fancy's wanderings, “I've wisht that little isle had wings, “And we within its fairy bowers

“Were wafted off to seas unknown, “Where not a pulse should beat but ours, “And we might live, love, die, alone! “Far from the cruel and the cold,—

“Where the bright eyes of angels only “Should come around us to behold “A paradise so pure and lonely. “Would this be world enough for thee?” —

Playful she turned that he might see The passing smile her cheek put on; But when she markt how mournfully His eye met hers, that smile was gone;

And bursting into heart-felt tears, “Yes, yes,” she cried, “my hourly fears, “My dreams have boded all too right — “We part — for ever part — tonight!

“I knew, I knew it could not last — “‘ Twas bright,‘ twas heavenly, but‘ tis past! “Oh! ever thus from childhood's hour “I've seen my fondest hopes decay;

“I never loved a tree or flower, “But‘ twas the first to fade away. “I never nurst a dear gazelle “To glad me with its soft black eye

“But when it came to know me well “And love me it was sure to die I “Now too — the joy most like divine “Of all I ever dreamt or knew,

“To see thee, hear thee, call thee mine,— “Oh misery! must I lose that too? “Yet go — on peril's brink we meet;— “Those frightful rocks — that treacherous sea —

“No, never come again — tho’ sweet, “Tho’ heaven, it may be death to thee. “Farewell — and blessings on thy way, “Where'er thou goest, beloved stranger!

“Better to sit and watch that ray “And think thee safe, tho’ far away, “Than have thee near me and in danger!” “Danger!— oh, tempt me not to boast” —

The youth exclaimed — “thou little know'st “What he can brave, who, born and nurst “In Danger's paths, has dared her worst; “Upon whose ear the signal-word

“Of strife and death is hourly breaking; “Who sleeps with head upon the sword “His fevered hand must grasp in waking. “Danger!” —

“Say on — thou fearest not then, “And we may meet — oft meet again?” “Oh! look not so — beneath the skies “I now fear nothing but those eyes.

“If aught on earth could charm or force “My spirit from its destined course,— “If aught could make this soul forget “The bond to which its seal is set,

“‘ Twould be those eyes;— they, only they, “Could melt that sacred seal away! “But no —‘ tis fixt — my awful doom “Is fixt — on this side of the tomb

“We meet no more;— why, why did Heaven “Mingle two souls that earth has riven, “Has rent asunder wide as ours? “Oh, Arab maid, as soon the Powers

“Of Light and Darkness may combine. “As I be linkt with thee or thine! “Thy Father” — “Holy ALLA save

“His gray head from that lightning glance! “Thou knowest him not — he loves the brave; “Nor lives there under heaven's expanse “One who would prize, would worship thee

“And thy bold spirit more than he. “Oft when in childhood I have played “With the bright falchion by his side, “I've heard him swear his lisping maid

“In time should be a warrior's bride. “And still whene'er at Haram hours “I take him cool sherbets and flowers, “He tells me when in playful mood

“A hero shall my bridegroom be, “Since maids are best in battle wooed, “And won with shouts of victory! “Nay, turn not from me — thou alone

“Art formed to make both hearts thy own. “Go — join his sacred ranks — thou knowest “The unholy strife these Persians wage:— “Good Heaven, that frown!— even now thou glowest

“With more than mortal warrior's rage. “Haste to the camp by morning's light, “And when that sword is raised in fight, “Oh still remember, Love and I

“Beneath its shadow trembling lie! “One victory o'er those Slaves of Fire, “Those impious Ghebers whom my sire “Abhors” —

“Hold, hold — thy words are death” — The stranger cried as wild he flung His mantle back and showed beneath The Gheber belt that round him clung.—

“Here, maiden, look — weep — blush to see “All that thy sire abhors in me! “Yes — I am of that impious race, “Those Slaves of Fire who, morn and even,

“Hail their Creator's dwelling-place “Among the living lights of heaven: “Yes — I am of that outcast few, “To IRAN and to vengeance true,

“Who curse the hour your Arabs came “To desolate our shrines of flame, “And swear before God's burning eye “To break our country's chains or die!

“Thy bigot sire,— nay, tremble not,— “He who gave birth to those dear eyes “With me is sacred as the spot “From which our fires of worship rise!

“But know —‘ twas he I sought that night, “When from my watch-boat on the sea “I caught this turret's glimmering light, “And up the rude rocks desperately

“Rusht to my prey — thou knowest the rest — “I climbed the gory vulture's nest, “And found a trembling dove within;— “Thine, thine the victory — thine the sin —

“If Love hath made one thought his own, “That Vengeance claims first — last — alone! “Oh? had we never, never met, “Or could this heart even now forget

“How linkt, how blest we might have been, “Had fate not frowned so dark between! “Hadst thou been born a Persian maid, “In neighboring valleys had we dwelt,

“Thro’ the same fields in childhood played, “At the same kindling altar knelt,— “Then, then, while all those nameless ties “In which the charm of Country lies

“Had round our hearts been hourly spun, “Till IRAN'S cause and thine were one; “While in thy lute's awakening sigh “I heard the voice of days gone by,

“And saw in every smile of thine “Returning hours of glory shine;— “While the wronged Spirit of our Land “Lived, lookt, and spoke her wrongs thro’ thee,—

“God! who could then this sword withstand? “Its very flash were victory! “But now — estranged, divorced for ever, “Far as the grasp of Fate can sever;

“Our only ties what love has wove,— “In faith, friends, country, sundered wide; “And then, then only, true to love, “When false to all that's dear beside!

“Thy father IKAN'S deadliest foe — “Thyself, perhaps, even now — but no — “Hate never looked so lovely yet! No — sacred to thy soul will be

“The land of him who could forget “All but that bleeding land for thee. “When other eyes shall see, unmoved, “Her widows mourn, her warriors fall,

“Thou'lt think how well one Gheber loved. “And for his sake thou'lt weep for all! “But look” — With sudden start he turned

And pointed to the distant wave Where lights like charnel meteors burned Bluely as o'er some seaman's grave; And fiery darts at intervals

Flew up all sparkling from the main As if each star that nightly falls Were shooting back to heaven again. “My signal lights!— I must away —

“Both, both are ruined, if I stay. “Farewell — sweet life! thou clingest in vain — “Now, Vengeance, I am thine again!” Fiercely he broke away, nor stopt,

Nor lookt — but from the lattice dropt Down mid the pointed crags beneath As if he fled from love to death. While pale and mute young HINDA stood,

Nor moved till in the silent flood A momentary plunge below Startled her from her trance of woe;— Shrieking she to the lattice flew,

“I come — I come — if in that tide “Thou sleepest to-night, I'll sleep there too “In death's cold wedlock by thy side. “Oh! I would ask no happier bed

“Than the chill wave my love lies under:— “Sweeter to rest together dead, “Far sweeter than to live asunder!” But no — their hour is not yet come —

Again she sees his pinnace fly, Wafting him fleetly to his home, Where'er that ill-starred home may lie; And calm and smooth it seemed to win

Its moonlight way before the wind As if it bore all peace within Nor left one breaking heart behind!