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Just then, beneath some orange trees,
Whose fruit and blossoms in the breeze
Were wantoning together, free,
Like age at play with infancy-
Beneath that fresh and springing bower,

Close by the lake she heard the moan
Of one who, at this silent hour,

Had thither stolen to die alone One who in life where'er he moved,

Drew after him the hearts of many ; Yet, now, as though he ne'er were loved,

Dies here unseen, unwept by any ; None to watch near him-none to slake

The fire that in his bosom lies, With even a sprinkle from that lake Which shines so cool before his

eyes. No voice, well known through many a day,

To speak the last, the parting word, Which, when all other sounds decay,

Is still like distant music beard. That tender farewell on the shore Of this rude world when all is o'er, Which cheers the spirit, ere its bark Puts off into the unknown dark.

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Deserted youth! one thought alone

Shed joy around his soul in death-
That she, whom he for years had known,
And loved, and might have called his own,

Was safe from this foul midnight's breath ;-
Safe in her father's princely halls,
Where the cool air from fountain-falls,
Freshly perfumed by many a brand
Of the sweet wood from India's land,
Were pure as she whose brow they fanned.

But see,—who yonder comes by stealth,

This melancholy bower to seek, Like a young envoy, sent by health,

With rosy gifts upon her cheek? 'Tis shefar off through moonlight dim,

He knew his own betrothed bride, She, who would rather die with him,

Than live to gain the world beside ! Her arms are round her lover now,

His livid cheek to hers she presses, And dips, to bind his burning brow,

In the cool lake her loosened tresses. Ah! ance how little did he think An hour would come, when he should shrink

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With horror from that dear embrace,

Those gentle arms that were to him
Holy as is the cradling place

Of Eden's infant cherubim !
And now he yieldsnow turns away,

Shuddering as if the venom lay
All in those proffered lips alone-
Those lips that, then so fearless grown,
Never until that instant came

Near his unasked or without shame.
• Oh! let me only breathe the air,

The blessed air, that's breathed by thee,
And whether on its wings it bear

Healing or death, 'tis sweet to me!
There,—drink my tears, while yet they fall -

Would that my bosom's blood were balm,
And well thou know'st, I'd shed it all,
To give thy brow one minute's calm :
Nay, turn not from me that dear face-

Am I not thine-thy own loved bride-
The one, the chosen one, whose place

In life or death is by thy side!
Think'st thou that she, whose only light

In this dim world from thee hath shone,
Could bear the long the cheerless night,

That must be her’s, when thou art gone ?

That I can live, and let thee go,
Who art my life itself ?--No, no
When the stem dies, the leaf that grew
Out of its heart must perish too!
Then turn to me, my own love, turn,
Before like thee I fade and burn;
Cling to these yet cool lips, and share
The last pure life that lingers there.'
She fails--she sinks--as dies the lamp
In charnel airs or cavern-damp,
So quickly do his baleful sighs
Quench all the sweet light of her

eyes : One struggle,--and his pain is past

Her lover is no longer living !
One kiss the maiden gives, one last,

Long kiss, which she expires in giving !

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Sleep,' said the Peri, as softly she stole The farewell sigh of that vanishing soul, As true as e'er warmed a woman's breast

Sleep on, in visions of odour rest, In balmier airs than ever yet stirred Th' e::chanted pile of that lonely bird, Who sings at the last his own death lay, And in music and perfume dies away!

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 seemed

Upon the eve of doomsday taken
From their dim graves, in odour sleeping ;-

While that benevolent Peri beamed
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 throbbed her heart, with hope elate,

The Elysian palm she soon shall win,
For the bright spirit at the gate
Smiled as she

gave that offering in; And she already hear's 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!

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