The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore :: :: University of Virginia Library

One morn a Peri at the gate
Of Eden stood, disconsolate;
And as she listen'd to the Springs
Of Life within, like music flowing,
And caught the light upon her wings
Through the half-open portal glowing,
She wept to think her recreant race
Should e'er have lost that glorious place!

“How happy,” exclaim'd this child of air,
“Are the holy Spirits who wander there,
“Mid flowers that never shall fade or fall;
“Though mine are the gardens of earth and sea,
“And the stars themselves have flowers for me,
“One blossom of Heaven out-blooms them all!

“Though sunny the Lake of cool Cashmere,
“With its plane-tree Isle reflected clear ,

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“And sweetly the founts of that Valley fall;
“Though bright are the waters of Sing-su-hay,
“And the golden floods that thitherward stray ,
“Yet—oh, 'tis only the Blest can say
“How the waters of Heaven outshine them all!

“Go, wing thy flight from star to star,
“From world to luminous world, as far
“As the universe spreads its flaming wall:
“Take all the pleasures of all the spheres,
“And multiply each through endless years,
“One minute of Heaven is worth them all!”

The glorious Angel, who was keeping
The gates of Light, beheld her weeping;
And, as he nearer drew and listen'd
To her sad song, a tear-drop glisten'd
Within his eyelids, like the spray
From Eden's fountain, when it lies

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On the blue flow'r, which—Bramins say—
Blooms nowhere but in Paradise.

“Nymph of a fair but erring line!”
Gently he said—“One hope is thine.
“'Tis written in the Book of Fate,
“The Peri yet may be forgiven
Who brings to this Eternal gate
“The Gift that is most dear to Heaven!
“Go, seek it, and redeem thy sin—
“'Tis sweet to let the Pardon'd in.”

Rapidly as comets run
To the' embraces of the Sun;—
Fleeter than the starry brands
Flung at night from angel hands

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At those dark and daring sprites
Who would climb the' empyreal heights,
Down the blue vault the Peri flies,
And, lighted earthward by a glance
That just then broke from morning's eyes,
Hung hovering o'er our world's expanse.

But whither shall the Spirit go
To find this gift for Heav'n?—“I know
“The wealth,” she cries, “of every urn,
“In which unnumber'd rubies burn,
“Beneath the pillars of Chilminar ;
“I know where the Isles of Perfume are
“Many a fathom down in the sea,
“To the south of sun-bright Araby ;

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“I know, too, where the Genii hid
“The jewell'd cup of their King Jamshid ,
“With Life's elixir sparkling high—
“But gifts like these are not for the sky.
“Where was there ever a gem that shone
“Like the steps of Alla's wonderful Throne?
“And the Drops of Life—oh! what would they be
“In the boundless Deep of Eternity?”

While thus she mus'd, her pinions fann'd
The air of that sweet Indian land,
Whose air is balm; whose ocean spreads
O'er coral rocks, and amber beds ;
Whose mountains, pregnant by the beam
Of the warm sun, with diamonds teem;

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Whose rivulets are like rich brides,
Lovely, with gold beneath their tides;
Whose sandal groves and bowers of spice
Might be a Peri's Paradise!
But crimson now her rivers ran
With human blood—the smell of death
Came reeking from those spicy bowers,
And man, the sacrifice of man,
Mingled his taint with every breath
Upwafted from the innocent flowers.
Land of the Sun! what foot invades
Thy Pagods and thy pillar'd shades —
Thy cavern shrines, and Idol stones,
Thy Monarchs and their thousand Thrones?

162

'Tis He of Gazna —fierce in wrath
He comes, and India's diadems
Lie scatter'd in his ruinous path.—
His bloodhounds he adorns with gems,
Torn from the violated necks
Of many a young and lov'd Sultana ;
Maidens, within their pure Zenana,
Priests in the very fane he slaughters,
And choaks up with the glittering wrecks
Of golden shrines the sacred waters!

Downward the Peri turns her gaze,
And, through the war-field's bloody haze
Beholds a youthful warrior stand,
Alone beside his native river,—
The red blade broken in his hand,
And the last arrow in his quiver.

163

“Live,” said the Conqueror, “live to share
“The trophies and the crowns I bear!”
Silent that youthful warrior stood—
Silent he pointed to the flood
All crimson with his country's blood,
Then sent his last remaining dart,
For answer, to the' Invader's heart.

False flew the shaft, though pointed well;
The Tyrant liv'd, the Hero fell!—
Yet mark'd the Peri where he lay,
And, when the rush of war was past,
Swiftly descending on a ray
Of morning light, she caught the last—
Last glorious drop his heart had shed,
Before its free-born spirit fled!

“Be this,” she cried, as she wing'd her flight,
“My welcome gift at the Gates of Light.
“Though foul are the drops that oft distil
“On the field of warfare, blood like this,
“For Liberty shed, so holy is ,

164

“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
“Who die thus for their native Land.—
“But see—alas!—the crystal bar
“Of Eden moves not—holier far
“Than ev'n this drop the boon must be,
“That opes the Gates of Heav'n for thee!”

165

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
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 ,
The exil'd Spirit sighing roves;

166

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;—
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;—

167

Those ruin'd shrines and towers that seem
The relics of a splendid dream;
Amid whose fairy loneliness
Nought but the lapwing'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!—
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!

168

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
Throughout the city's desolate walks
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!

169

“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.
One who in life where'er he mov'd,
Drew after him the hearts of many;
Yet now, as though he ne'er were lov'd,
Dies here unseen, unwept by any!
None to watch near him—none to slake
The fire that in his bosom lies,
With ev'n a sprinkle from that lake,
Which shines so cool before his eyes.

170

No voice, well known through many a day,
To speak the last, the parting word,
Which, when all other sounds decay,
Is still like distant music heard;—
That tender farewell on the shore
Of this rude world, when all is o'er,
Which cheers the spirit, ere its bark
Puts off into the unknown Dark.

Deserted youth! one thought alone
Shed joy around his soul in death—
That she, whom he for years had known,
And lov'd, and might have call'd his own
Was safe from this foul midnight's breath,—
Safe in her father's princely halls,
Where the cool airs from fountain falls,
Freshly perfum'd by many a brand
Of the sweet wood from India's land,
Were pure as she whose brow they fann'd.

But see—who yonder comes by stealth ,
This melancholy bower to seek,

171

Like a young envoy, sent by Health,
With rosy gifts upon her cheek?
'Tis she—far off, through moonlight dim
He knew his own betrothed bride,
She, who would rather die with him,
Than live to gain the world beside!—
Her arms are round her lover now,
His livid cheek to hers she presses,
And dips, to bind his burning brow,
In the cool lake her loosen'd tresses.
Ah! once, how little did he think
An hour would come, when he should shrink
With horror from that dear embrace,
Those gentle arms, that were to him
Holy as is the cradling place
Of Eden's infant cherubim!
And now he yields—now turns away,
Shuddering as if the venom lay
All in those proffer'd lips alone—
Those lips that, then so fearless grown,
Never until that instant came
Near his unask'd or without shame.

172

“Oh! let me only breathe the air,
“The blessed air, that's breath'd by thee,
“And, whether on its wings it bear
“Healing or death, 'tis sweet to me!
“There—drink my tears, while yet they fall—
“Would that my bosom's blood were balm,
“And, well thou know'st, I'd shed it all,
“To give thy brow one minute's calm.
“Nay, turn not from me that dear face—
“Am I not thine—thy own lov'd bride—
“The one, the chosen one, whose place
“In life or death is by thy side?
“Think'st thou that she, whose only light,
“In this dim world, from thee hath shone,
“Could bear the long, the cheerless night,
“That must be hers when thou art gone?
“That I can live, and let thee go,
“Who art my life itself?—No, no—
“When the stem dies, the leaf that grew
“Out of its heart must perish too!
“Then turn to me, my own love, turn,
“Before, like thee, I fade and burn;
“Cling to these yet cool lips, and share
“The last pure life that lingers there!”

173

She fails—she sinks—as dies the lamp
In charnel airs, or cavern-damp,
So quickly do his baleful sighs
Quench all the sweet light of her eyes.
One struggle—and his pain is past—
Her lover is no longer living!
One kiss the maiden gives, one last,
Long kiss, which she expires in giving!

“Sleep,” said the Peri, as softly she stole
The farewell sigh of that vanishing soul,
As true as e'er warm'd a woman's breast—
“Sleep on, in visions of odour rest,
“In balmier airs than ever yet stirr'd
“The' enchanted pile of that lonely bird,
“Who sings at the last his own death-lay ,
“And in music and perfume dies away!”

174

Thus saying, from her lips she spread
Unearthly breathings through the place,
And shook her sparkling wreath, and shed
Such lustre o'er each paly face,
That like two lovely saints they seem'd,
Upon the eve of doomsday taken
From their dim graves, in odour sleeping;
While that benevolent Peri beam'd
Like their good angel, calmly keeping
Watch o'er them till their souls would waken.

But morn is blushing in the sky;
Again the Peri soars above,
Bearing to Heav'n that precious sigh
Of pure, self-sacrificing love.
High throbb'd her heart, with hope elate,
The Elysian palm she soon shall win,
For the bright Spirit at the gate
Smil'd as she gave that offering in;
And she already hears the trees
Of Eden, with their crystal bells
Ringing in that ambrosial breeze
That from the throne of Alla swells;

175

And she can see the starry bowls
That lie around that lucid lake,
Upon whose banks admitted Souls
Their first sweet draught of glory take!

But, ah! even Peris' hopes are vain—
Again the Fates forbade, again
The' immortal barrier clos'd—“Not yet,”
The Angel said as, with regret,
He shut from her that glimpse of glory—
“True was the maiden, and her story,
“Written in light o'er Alla's head,
“By seraph eyes shall long be read.
“But, Peri, see—the crystal bar
“Of Eden moves not—holier far
“Than ev'n this sigh the boon must be
“That opes the Gates of Heav'n for thee.”

Now, upon Syria's land of roses
Softly the light of Eve reposes,

176

And, like a glory, the broad sun
Hangs over sainted Lebanon;
Whose head in wintry grandeur towers,
And whitens with eternal sleet,
While summer, in a vale of flowers,
Is sleeping rosy at his feet.

To one, who look'd from upper air
O'er all the' enchanted regions there,
How beauteous must have been the glow,
The life, the sparkling from below!
Fair gardens, shining streams, with ranks
Of golden melons on their banks,
More golden where the sun-light falls;—
Gay lizards, glittering on the walls
Of ruin'd shrines, busy and bright
As they were all alive with light;
And, yet more splendid, numerous flocks
Of pigeons, settling on the rocks,

177

With their rich restless wings, that gleam
Variously in the crimson beam
Of the warm West,—as if inlaid
With brilliants from the mine, or made
Of tearless rainbows, such as span
The' unclouded skies of Peristan.
And then the mingling sounds that come,
Of shepherd's ancient reed , with hum
Of the wild bees of Palestine ,
Banquetting through the flowery vales;
And, Jordan, those sweet banks of thine,
And woods, so full of nightingales.

But nought can charm the luckless Peri;
Her soul is sad—her wings are weary—
Joyless she sees the Sun look down
On that great Temple, once his own ,

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Whose lonely columns stand sublime,
Flinging their shadows from on high,
Like dials, which the wizard, Time,
Had rais'd to count his ages by!

Yet haply there may lie conceal'd
Beneath those Chambers of the Sun,
Some amulet of gems, anneal'd
In upper fires, some tablet seal'd
With the great name of Solomon,
Which, spell'd by her illumin'd eyes,
May teach her where, beneath the moon,
In earth or ocean, lies the boon,
The charm, that can restore so soon
An erring Spirit to the skies.

Cheer'd by this hope she bends her thither;—
Still laughs the radiant eye of Heaven,
Nor have the golden bowers of Even
In the rich West begun to wither;—
When, o'er the vale of Balbec winging
Slowly, she sees a child at play,
Among the rosy wild flowers singing,
As rosy and as wild as they;

179

Chasing, with eager hands and eyes,
The beautiful blue-damsel flies
That flutter'd round the jasmine stems,
Like winged flowers or flying gems:—
And, near the boy, who tir'd with play
Now nestling 'mid the roses lay,
She saw a wearied man dismount
From his hot steed, and on the brink
Of a small imaret's rustic fount
Impatient fling him down to drink.
Then swift his haggard brow he turn'd
To the fair child, who fearless sat,
Though never yet hath day-beam burn'd
Upon a brow more fierce than that,—
Sullenly fierce—a mixture dire,
Like thunder-clouds, of gloom and fire;
In which the Peri's eye could read
Dark tales of many a ruthless deed;

180

The ruin'd maid—the shrine profan'd—
Oaths broken—and the threshold stain'd
With blood of guests!—there written, all,
Black as the damning drops that fall
From the denouncing Angel's pen,
Ere Mercy weeps them out again.

Yet tranquil now that man of crime
(As if the balmy evening time
Soften'd his spirit) look'd and lay,
Watching the rosy infant's play:—
Though still, whene'er his eye by chance
Fell on the boy's, its lurid glance
Met that unclouded, joyous gaze,
As torches, that have burnt all night
Through some impure and godless rite,
Encounter morning's glorious rays.

But, hark! the vesper call to prayer,
As slow the orb of daylight sets,
Is rising sweetly on the air,
From Syria's thousand minarets!
The boy has started from the bed
Of flowers, where he had laid his head,

181

And down upon the fragrant sod
Kneels , with his forehead to the south,
Lisping the' eternal name of God
From Purity's own cherub mouth,
And looking, while his hands and eyes
Are lifted to the glowing skies,
Like a stray babe of Paradise,
Just lighted on that flowery plain,
And seeking for its home again.

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Oh! 'twas a sight—that Heav'n—that child—
A scene, which might have well beguil'd
Ev'n haughty Eblis of a sigh
For glories lost and peace gone by!

And how felt he, the wretched Man
Reclining there—while memory ran
O'er many a year of guilt and strife,
Flew o'er the dark flood of his life,
Nor found one sunny resting-place,
Nor brought him back one branch of grace.
“There was a time,” he said, in mild,
Heart-humbled tones—“thou blessed child!
“When, young and haply pure as thou,
“I look'd and pray'd like thee—but now—”
He hung his head—each nobler aim,
And hope, and feeling, which had slept
From boyhood's hour, that instant came
Fresh o'er him, and he wept—he wept!

Blest tears of soul-felt penitence!
In whose benign, redeeming flow
Is felt the first, the only sense
Of guiltless joy that guilt can know.

183

“There's a drop,” said the Peri, “that down from the moon
“Falls through the withering airs of June
“Upon Egypt's land , of so healing a power,
“So balmy a virtue, that ev'n in the hour
“That drop descends, contagion dies,
“And health re-animates earth and skies!—
“Oh, is it not thus, thou man of sin,
“The precious tears of repentance fall?
“Though foul thy fiery plagues within,
“One heavenly drop hath dispell'd them all!”

And now—behold him kneeling there
By the child's side, in humble prayer,
While the same sunbeam shines upon
The guilty and the guiltless one,
And hymns of joy proclaim through Heaven
The triumph of a Soul Forgiven!

'Twas when the golden orb had set,
While on their knees they linger'd yet,

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There fell a light more lovely far
Than ever came from sun or star,
Upon the tear that, warm and meek,
Dew'd that repentant sinner's cheek.
To mortal eye this light might seem
A northern flash or meteor beam—
But well the' enraptur'd Peri knew
Twas a bright smile the Angel threw
From Heaven's gate, to hail that tear
Her harbinger of glory near!

“Joy, joy for ever! my task is done—
“The Gates are pass'd, and Heaven is won!
“Oh! am I not happy? I am, I am—
“To thee, sweet Eden! how dark and sad
“Are the diamond turrets of Shadukiam ,
“And the fragrant bowers of Amberabad!

“Farewell, ye odours of Earth, that die
“Passing away like a lover's sigh;—

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“My feast is now of the Tooba Tree ,
“Whose scent is the breath of Eternity!

“Farewell, ye vanishing flowers, that shone
“In my fairy wreath, so bright and brief;—
“Oh! what are the brightest that e'er have blown,
“To the lote-tree, springing by Alla's throne ,
“Whose flowers have a soul in every leaf.
“Joy, joy for ever!—my task is done—
“The Gates are pass'd, and Heav'n is won!”

“Numerous small islands emerge from the Lake of Cashmere. One is called Char Chenaur, from the plane trees upon it.” —Foster.

“The Altan Kol or Golden River of Tibet, which runs into the Lakes of Sing-su-hay, has abundance of gold in its sands, which employs the inhabitants all the summer in gathering it.” —Description of Tibet in Pinkerton.

“The Brahmins of this province insist that the blue campac flowers only in Paradise.” —Sir W. Jones. It appears, however, from a curious letter of the Sultan of Menangcabow, given by Marsden, that one place on earth may lay claim to the possession of it. “This is the Sultan, who keeps the flower champaka that is blue, and to be found in no other country but his, being yellow elsewhere.” —Marsden's Sumatra.

“The Mahometans suppose that falling stars are the firebrands wherewith the good angels drive away the bad, when they approach too near the empyrean or verge of the heavens.” —Fryer.

The Forty Pillars; so the Persians call the ruins of Persepolis. It is imagined by them that this palace and the edifices at Balbec were built by Genii, for the purpose of hiding in their subterraneous caverns immense treasures, which still remain there. —D'Herbelot, Volney.

Diodorus mentions the Isle of Panchaia, to the south o Arabia Felix, where there was a temple of Jupiter. This island, or rather cluster of isles, has disappeared, “sunk (says Grandpré) in the abyss made by the fire beneath their foundations.” —Voyage to the Indian Ocean.

The Isles of Panchaia.

“The cup of Jamshid, discovered, they say, when digging for the foundations of Persepolis.” —Richardson.

“It is not like the Sea of India, whose bottom is rich with pearls and ambergris, whose mountains of the coast are stored with gold and precious stones, whose gulfs breed creatures that yield ivory, and among the plants of whose shores are ebony, red wood, and the wood of Hairzan, aloes, camphor, cloves, sandal-wood, and all other spices and aromatics; where parrots and peacocks are birds of the forest, and musk and civet are collected upon the lands.” —Travels of two Mohammedans.

------ in the ground
The bended twigs take root, and daughters grow
About the mother-tree, a pillar'd shade,
High over-arch'd, and echoing walks between.

Milton.

For a particular description and plate of the Banyan-tree, see Cordiner's Ceylon.

“With this immense treasure Mamood returned to Ghizni, and in the year 400 prepared a magnificent festival, where he displayed to the people his wealth in golden thrones and in other ornaments, in a great plain without the city of Ghizni.” —Ferishta.

“Mahmood of Gazna, or Ghizni, who conquered India in the beginning of the 11th century.” —See his History in Dow and Sir J. Malcolm.

“It is reported that the hunting equipage of the Sultan Mahmood was so magnificent, that he kept 400 greyhounds and bloodhounds, each of which wore a collar set with jewels, and a covering edged with gold and pearls.” —Universal History, vol. iii.

Objections may be made to my use of the word Liberty in this, and more especially in the story that follows it, as totally inapplicable to any state of things that has ever existed in the East; but though I cannot, of course, mean to employ it in that enlarged and noble sense which is so well understood at the present day, and, I grieve to say, so little acted upon, yet it is no disparagement to the word to apply it to that national independence, that freedom from the interference and dictation of foreigners, without which, indeed, no liberty of any kind can exist; and for which both Hindoos and Persians fought against their Mussulman invaders with, in many cases, a bravery that deserved much better success.

“The Mountains of the Moon, or the Montes Lunæ of antiquity, at the foot of which the Nile is supposed to arise.”

—Bruce.

“Sometimes called,” says Jackson, “Jibbel Kumrie, or the white or lunar coloured mountains; so a white horse is called by the Arabians a moon-coloured horse.”

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

See 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.

“The orchards of Rosetta are filled with turtle-doves.” —Sonnini.

Savary mentions the pelicans upon Lake Mœris.

“The superb date-tree, whose head languidly reclines, like that of a handsome woman overcome with sleep.”—Dafard el Hadad.

“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.

Jackson, speaking of the plague that occurred in West Barbary, when he was there, says, “The birds of the air fled away from the abodes of men. The hyænas, on the contrary, visited the cemeteries,” &c.

“Gondar was full of hyænas from the time it turned dark, till the dawn of day, seeking the different pieces of slaughtered carcasses, which this cruel and unclean people expose in the streets without burial, and who firmly believe that these animals are Falashta from the neighbouring mountains, transformed by magic, and come down to eat human flesh in the dark in safety.” —Bruce.

Bruce.

This circumstance has been often introduced into poetry; —by Vincentius Fabricius, by Darwin, and lately, with very powerful effect, by Mr. Wilson.

“In the East, they suppose the Phœnix to have fifty orifices in his bill, which are continued to his tail; and that, after living one thousand years, he builds himself a funeral pile, sings a melodious air of different harmonies through his fifty organ pipes, flaps his wings with a velocity which sets fire to the wood, and consumes himself.” —Richardson.

“On the shores of a quadrangular lake stand a thousand goblets, made of stars, out of which souls predestined to enjoy felicity drink the crystal wave.” —From Chateaubriand's Description of the Mahometan Paradise, in his Beauties of Christianity.

Richardson thinks that Syria had its name from Suri, a beautiful and delicate species of rose, for which that country has been always famous;—hence, Suristan, the Land of Roses.

“The number of lizards I saw one day in the great court of the Temple of the Sun at Balbec amounted to many thousands; the ground, the walls, and stones of the ruined buildings, were covered with them.” —Bruce.

“The Syrinx or Pan's pipe is still a pastoral instrument in Syria.” —Russel.

“Wild bees, frequent in Palestine, in hollow trunks or branches of trees, and the clefts of rocks. Thus it is said (Psalm lxxxi.), ‘honey out of the stony rock.’” —Burder's Oriental Customs.

“The river Jordan is on both sides beset with little, thick, and pleasant woods, among which thousands of nightingales warble all together.” —Thevenot.

The Temple of the Sun at Balbec.

“You behold there a considerable number of a remarkable species of beautiful insects, the elegance of whose appearance and their attire procured for them the name of Damsels.” —Sonnini.

Imaret, “hospice où on loge et nourrit, gratis, les pélerins pendant trois jours.” —Toderini, translated by the Abbé de Cournand. —See also Castellan's Mœurs des Othomans, tom. v. p. 145.

“Such Turks as at the common hours of prayer are on the road, or so employed as not to find convenience to attend the mosques, are still obliged to execute that duty; nor are they ever known to fail, whatever business they are then about, but pray immediately when the hour alarms them, whatever they are about, in that very place they chance to stand on; insomuch that when a janissary, whom you have to guard you up and down the city, hears the notice which is given him from the steeples, he will turn about, stand still, and beckon with his hand, to tell his charge he must have patience for awhile; when, taking out his handkerchief, he spreads it on the ground, sits cross-legged thereupon, and says his prayers, though in the open market, which, having ended, he leaps briskly up, salutes the person whom he undertook to convey, and renews his journey with the mild expression of Ghell gohnnum ghell, or Come, dear, follow me.” —Aaron Hill's Travels.

The Nucta, or Miraculous Drop, which falls in Egypt precisely on St. John's day, in June, and is supposed to have the effect of stopping the plague.

The Country of Delight—the name of a province in the kingdom of Jinnistan, or Fairy Land, the capital of which is called the City of Jewels. Amberabad is another of the cities of Jinnistan.

The tree Tooba, that stands in Paradise, in the palace of Mahomet. See Sale's Prelim. Disc.—Tooba, says D'Herbelot, signifies beatitude, or eternal happiness.

Mahomet is described, in the 53d chapter of the Koran, as having seen the angel Gabriel “by the lote-tree, beyond which there is no passing: near it is the Garden of Eternal Abode.” This tree, says the commentators, stands in the seventh Heaven, on the right hand of the Throne of God.