THE LAMENT OF THE PERI FOR HINDA. The young village maid, when with flowers she dresses Nor shall Iran, beloved of her Hero, forget thee, Though tyrants watch over her tears as they start: Close, close by the side of that Hero she'll set thee, Embalmed in the innermost shrine of her heart. Farewell!-be it ours to embellish thy pillow With everything beauteous that grows in the deep; Each flower of the rock and each gem of the hollow Shall sweeten thy bed and illumine thy sleep. Around thee shall glisten the loveliest amber That ever the sorrowing sea-bird has wept; We'll dive where the gardens of coral lie darkling, We'll seek where the sands of the Caspian are sparkling, Farewell! farewell! until Pity's sweet fountain Is lost in the hearts of the fair and the brave, They'll weep for the Chieftain who died on that mountain, They'll weep for the Maiden who sleeps in this wave. The Enchantress of the Flowers. HER glance Spoke something, past all mortal pleasures, As, in a kind of holy trance, She hung above those fragrant treasures, Bending to drink their balmy airs, As if she mixed her soul with theirs. And 't was, indeed, the perfume shed From flowers and scented flame that fed "I know where the wingèd visions dwell I know each herb and floweret's bell, To twine our braid, To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade. "The image of love, that nightly flies. To visit the bashful maid, Steals from the jasmine flower, that sighs Its soul, like her, in the shade. The hope, in dreams, of a happier hour Springs out of the silvery almond flower, Then hasten we, maid, To twine our braid, To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade. "The visions that oft to worldly eyes The glitter of mines unfold, Inhabit the mountain herb that dyes The phantom shapes-oh, touch not them- Lurk in the fleshly mandrake's stem, To twine our braid, An Angel in the House. Yow sweet it were, if without feeble fright, Or dying of the beauteous, dreadful sight, |