THE SONG OF THE ATAR GUL!

I'm come! I'm come! for you've charm'd me here

Soul of the Rose, from divine Cashmire

I'm come,—all orient, odorous, rare,

An Eden-breath in your boreal air;

I'm come. I'm come! like a seraph's sigh

Breath'd to ethereal minstrelsy,

And well ye'll deem what a sigh must be

From the tearless heirs of eternity!

I've fled my bright frame from Tirnagh's stream,

And, wand'ring here, am sweet as the dream

Of passion, which stirs the Peri's breast,

Whom her dear one's winglets fan to rest;

I've dwelt i' the rose-cup, and drunk the tone—

Of my lover the Bulbul, all low and lone;

And the maid's soul-song, who forth hath crept,

When pale stars peer'd, and night flow'rs wept.

But oh! from the songs of Cashmire's vale,

The rose, the lute, and the nightingale,

From flow'rs, whose odours were too divine;

From gems of beauty whose souls were mine;

From floating eyes, that could wound, yet bless,

In their warm, dark, deep, voluptuousness;

I'm come, in young iv'ry breasts to lie,

Betray'd like Love, by my luscious sigh!

I'm come, and my holy, rich, perfume

Makes faint your roses of palest bloom;

Soul, as I am, of an orient gem,

My aroma's too divine for them;

I'm come! but mine odorous, elfin wing

Rises from earth, and that one fair thing

First Love's first sigh, which ye know to be,

More exquisite, and more brief than me!