"It would not stain the purest rill,

"That sparkles among the Bowers of Bliss! "Oh! if there be, on this earthly sphere,

"A boon, an offering Heaven holds dear,

" "Tis the last libation Liberty draws

"From the heart that bleeds and breaks in her cause !".

"Sweet," said the Angel, as she gave

The gift into his radiant hand,

"Sweet is our welcome of the Brave

I

"Than ev❜n this drop the boon must be,

"That opes the Gates of Heav'n for thee!"

Her first fond hope of Eden blighted,

Now among AFRIC'S Lunar Mountains,

Far to the South, the PERI lighted;

And sleek'd her plumage at the fountains

Of that Egyptian tide, whose birth

Is hidden from the sons of earth,

"The Mountains of the Moon, or the Montes Lunæ of anti

quity, at the foot of which the Nile is supposed to arise." — Bruce.

Deep in those solitary woods,

Where oft the Genii of the Floods

Dance round the cradle of their Nile,
And hail the new-born Giant's smile!"
Thence, over EGYPT'S palmy groves,
Her grots, and sepulchres of Kings 3
The exil'd Spirit sighing roves;
And now hangs listening to the doves

In warm ROSETTA's vale +

now loves

To watch the moonlight on the wings

Of the white pelicans that break

The azure calm of MœRIS' Lake.'

'Twas a fair scene a Land more bright

Never did mortal eye behold!

Who could have thought, that saw this night
Those valleys and their fruits of gold
Basking in heav'n's serenest light;

2 "The Nile, which the Abyssinians know by the names of Abey and Alawy or the Giant.” — Asiat. Research. vol. i. p. 387.

3 V. Perry's View of the Levant for an account of the sepulchres in Upper Thebes, and the numberless grots, covered all over with hieroglyphics in the mountains of Upper Egypt.

4" The orchards of Rosetta are filled with turtle-doves.".

5 Savary mentions the pelicans upon Lake Moris.

Sonnini.

Those groups of lovely date-trees bending
Languidly their leaf-crown'd heads,

Like youthful maids, when sleep descending
Warns them to their silken beds; "-
Those virgin lilies, all the night

Bathing their beauties in the lake,

That they may rise more fresh and bright,
When their beloved Sun's awake;-
Those ruin'd shrines and towers that seem

The relics of a splendid dream;

Amid whose fairy loneliness

Nought but the lap-wing's cry is heard,
Nought seen but (when the shadows, flitting
Fast from the moon, unsheath its gleam)
Some purple-wing'd Sultana' sitting
Upon a column, motionless

And glittering, like an idol bird!

6 « The superb date-tree, whose head languidly reclines, like that of a handsome woman overcome with sleep." - Dafard el Hadad,

7 "That beautiful bird, with plumage of the finest shining blue, with purple beak and legs, the natural and living ornament of the temples and palaces of the Greeks and Romans, which from the stateliness of its port, as well as the brilliancy of its colours, has obtained the title of Sultana." Sonnini.

Who could have thought, that there, ev'n there,
Amid those scenes so still and fair,

The Demon of the Plague hath cast
From his hot wing a deadlier blast,
More mortal far than ever came
From the red Desert's sands of flame!
So quick, that every living thing

Of human shape, touch'd by his wing,
Like plants, where the Simoom hath past,
At once falls black and withering!

The sun went down on many a brow,
Which, full of bloom and freshness then,

Is rankling in the pest-house now,
And ne'er will feel that sun again !
And oh! to see the' unburied heaps
On which the lonely moonlight sleeps -
The very vultures turn away,
And sicken at so foul a prey!

Only the fierce hyæna stalks

8

Throughout the city's desolate walks

8 Jackson, speaking of the plague that occurred in West Barbary, when he was there, says, "The birds of the air fled away from The hyænas, on the contrary, visited the

the abodes of men.

cemeteries," &c.

At midnight, and his carnage plies —

Woe to the half-dead wretch, who meets

The glaring of those large blue eyes'
Amid the darkness of the streets!

"Poor race of Men !" said the pitying Spirit,
"Dearly ye pay for your primal Fall-
"Some flow'rets of Eden ye still inherit,

"But the trail of the Serpent is over them all!”

She wept the air

grew pure

and clear

Around her, as the bright drops ran;

For there's a magic in each tear,

Such kindly Spirits weep for man!

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 stol'n to die alone.