'Twas midnight-through the lattice, wreath'd

With woodbine, many a perfume breath'd
From plants that wake when others sleep,

From timid jasmine buds, that keep
Their odour to themselves all day,

But, when the sun-light dies away,
Let the delicious secret out

To every breeze that roams about;

When thus NAMOUNA: ""Tis the hour

"That scatters spells on herb and flower,
"And garlands might be gather'd now,
"That, twin'd around the sleeper's brow,
"Would make him dream of such delights,
"Such miracles and dazzling sights
"As Genii of the Sun behold,

"At evening, from their tents of gold
"Upon the' horizon where they play
"Till twilight comes, and, ray by ray,
"Their sunny mansions melt away!
"Now, too, a chaplet might be wreath'd
"Of buds o'er which the moon has breath'd,
"Which worn by her, whose love has stray'd,

"Might bring some Peri from the skies,

"Some sprite, whose very soul is made
"Of flowrets' breaths and lovers' sighs,

"And who might tell

"

Cried NOURMAHAL impatiently,

"For me, for me,"

"Oh! twine that wreath for me to-night."

Then, rapidly, with foot as light

As the young musk-roe's, out she flew
To cull each shining leaf that grew
Beneath the moonlight's hallowing beams
For this enchanted Wreath of Dreams.
Anemones and Seas of Gold, "

6

And new-blown lilies of the river,
And those sweet flowrets, that unfold
Their buds on CAMADEVA'S quiver;'-
The tube-rose, with her silvery light,

That in the Gardens of MALAY

Is call'd the Mistress of the Night,"

8

6" Hemasagara, or the Sea of Gold, with flowers of the brightest gold colour." Sir W. Jones.

7 "This tree (the Nagacesara) is one of the most delightful on earth, and the delicious odour of its blossoms justly gives them a place in the quiver of Camadeva or the God of Love" — Id.

8" The Malayans style the tube-rose (Polianthes tuberosa) Sandal Malam, or the Mistress of the Night.” Pennant.

So like a bride, scented and bright,

9

She comes out when the sun's away. ·
Amaranths, such as crown the maids
That wander through ZAMARA's shades; '—
And the white moon-flower, as it shows
On SERENDIB's high crags to those
Who near the isle at evening sail,
Scenting her clove-trees in the gale;
In short, all flowrets and all plants,
From the divine Amrita tree, '
That blesses heaven's inhabitants

With fruits of immortality,

Down to the basil tuft, that waves
Its fragrant blossom over graves,

And to the humble rosemary,

9 The people of the Batta country in Sumatra (of which Zamara is one of the ancient names)" when not engaged in war, lead an idle, inactive life, passing the day in playing on a kind of flute, crowned with garlands of flowers, among which the globe-amaranthus, a native of the country, mostly prevails." - Marsden.

I "The largest and richest sort (of the Jambu or rose-apple) is called Amrita or immortal, and the mythologists of Tibet apply the same word to a celestial tree, bearing ambrosial fruit.”—Sir W. Jones.

2 Sweet basil, called Rayhan in Persia, and generally found in church-yards.

Whose sweets so thanklessly are shed
To scent the desert 3 and the dead,
All in that garden bloom, and all
Are gather'd by young NOURMAHAL,
Who heaps her baskets with the flowers

And leaves, till they can hold no more
Then to NAMOUNA flies, and showers
Upon her lap the shining store.

With what delight th' Enchantress views
So many buds, bath'd with the dews

And beams of that bless'd hour! - 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 mix'd her soul with theirs.

And 'twas, indeed, the perfume shed
From flow'rs and scented flame that fed

3" In the Great Desert are found many stalks of lavender and rosemary."-Asiat. Res.

Her charmed life

for none had e'er

Beheld her taste of mortal fare,

Nor ever in aught earthly dip,
But the morn's dew, her roseate lip.
Fill'd with the cool, inspiring smell,
Th' Enchantress now begins her spell,
Thus singing, as she winds and weaves
In mystic form the glittering leaves :

I know where the winged visions dwell
That around the night-bed play;

I know each herb and flowret's bell,
Where they hide their wings by day.
Then hasten we, maid,

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.