i

On thy crimson lips of bliss
Murmuring accents shall repose,
Fond and glowing as the kiss

Burning Phoebus gives the rose,

As a white and beauteous dove
Fly to me all pure and fair

Like the lily-queen, my love,

Save the blush thou needs must wear.

'Tis enough-wild rapture's dream

Greets me as already thine

Come ye then, at twilight gleam,
Lady, if thou wilt be mine.

THE BRIDEGROOM'S LAMENT.

"Aye, marry 'tis a tale

Of old tradition, full of wonderment

And such sweet sorrows as make crystal beads
Hang from young maiden's eyes."

"She died in all her summer glory,
Broken-hearted and unenjoyed."

O мy bed it is a tyrant,

And it will not let me sleep,

And my pillow seems to whisper

"Hassan, lie awake and weep."

For the couch that should delight me
With the bride-bliss of my mate,
Has no love-spell thrown around it,
But is lone and desolate.

O my faithful heart is bleeding,
And I hope it soon will break,
That lovers true may ever know

I died for my love's sake.

My troth-plight droop'd and faded

Ere she yet was well a bride,

And it false would be if Hassan liv'd

When young Zoraida died.

O fatal was the dream I dreamt,
For on the blush of day

I woke, and from my lattice
Saw the eagle seize its prey;

And the sun which rose so warmly,
To illume our holy rite,

Grew pale at eve, and coldly set,

Unlike a bridal night.

O bitter is my cup of life,
The cup, alas! of woe,

And darkly o'er its venom-brim
The poison-waters flow.

The sweetest rose in Araby

Is wither'd ere 'twas blown,

And the blighted heart it grew upon

Can never flower alone.

O weep, ye maids, and ye who prize

A maiden's peerless faith,

O tell it oft, when I am gone,

He sought his bride in death;
And when the Christian stranger
Shall muse within our groves,
Be sure, like fond and faithful ones,
Ye sing of our true-loves.

O brightest of the ebon-eyed,
Too pure on earth to be,

Ere morrow's dawn, we'll meet, my bride,

In fond eternity.

Yon silver moon that laughs on high,

As though to slight my pain,

May still disport her paly lamp,
But mocks not me again.

I come, I come, Zoraida love,

All in my summer's bloom :
I come to lay me by thy side

Within thy virgin tomb.
My lip shall press thy lily cheek,

Where late the roses spread,

And I'll clasp thee in a close embrace,

Since 'tis our bridal bed.

THE SPELL !

"She was bright as a summer's morn

When all the heav'n is streak'd with dappled fires,
And flush'd with blushes like a rifled maid."

"There was a pretty redness in her lip,

A little riper and more lusty red

Than that mix'd in her cheek."

'Tis not because thy lovesome eye

Outbeams the

young Gazelle's;

'Tis not because thy tuneful sigh
Dear woman's musing tells.

It is the spell, my blooming maid,
Which lingers round thy charms,
That woos me to the twilight shade,
And beds me in thine arms.

"Tis not the hue that love has ta'en Thy vermil lip to flush;

Nor is it that the roses twain

Are wedded in thy blush.