THERE's silence in the princely halls,
And brightly blaze the lighted walls,
While clouds of musk and incense rise
From vases of a thousand dyes,
And roll their perfumed treasures wide,
In one luxuriant, fragrant tide;
And glittering chandeliers of gold,
Reflecting fire from every fold,
Hung o'er the shrouded body there,
Of Cashmere's once proud Subahdar!
The crystal's and the diamond's rays
Kindled a wide and brilliant blaze;
The ruby's blush, the coral's hue,
By Peris dipped in Henni's dew,
The topaz's rich and golden ray,
The opal's flame — the agate grey,
The amethyst of violet hue,
The sapphire with its heav'nly blue,
The snow-white jasper sparkling there
Near the carbuncle's deep'ning glare;
The warm cornelian's blushing glow
Reflected back the brilliant flow
Of light, which in refulgent streams,
O'er hall, o'er bower, and fountain beams.

O'er beds of roses, bright with dew,
Unfolding modestly to view,
Each trembling leaf, each blushing breast,
In Cashmere's wildest sweetness dressed;
Through vistas long, through myrtle bowers,
Where Amir Khan once passed his hours
In gazing on Amreta's face,
So full of beauty, full of grace,
Through veils of silver bright and clear,
It poured its softened radiance far;
Or beamed in pure and milky brightness,
O'er urns of alabaster whiteness;
Through Persian screens of glittering gold,
O'er many an altar's sacred fold,
Where to Eternity will blaze
The naphtha's never-fading rays,
The Gheber's fire which dieth never,
But burns, and beams, and glows for ever!

'T was silent — not a voice was heard —
No sigh, no murmur, not one word,
Was echoed through that brilliant hall,
The spell of silence hung o'er all;
For there had paused the wing of death,
The midnight spirit's withering breath.

At that still hour no sound arose
To break the charm of deep repose;
The lake was glittering, and the breeze
Sighed softly through the the tzinnar trees,
And kissed the Wuller's wave of blue,
Or sipped the gull's light trembling dew;
But not a murmur, not a sigh
Was wafted by the night-breeze by,
Through that wide hall and princely bower,
At midnight's calm and solemn hour!

Oh! where was Love, his night-watch keeping?
Or was the truant sweetly sleeping?
Where was he at that hour of rest,
By him created, claimed, and blessed?
Where were the tears of Love, and Sorrow,
The sigh which sympathy can borrow?
Where were regret, and chill despair?
Where was Amreta? — where, Oh where?

Hark! 't is the night-breeze softly playing,
Through veils of glittering silver straying —
No!'t is a step — so quick, so light,
That the wild flower which weeps at night,
Would raise again its drooping head,
To greet the footstep which had fled.

'Tis not the breeze which floats around,
Lifting the light veil from the ground:
No! 't is a form of heav'nly mien
Hath dared to draw the curtain's screen.

Dimly, behind the fluttering veil,
Which trembles in the breathing gale,
A form appears of seraph mould
As 'neath a light cloud's fleecy fold;
The veil is drawn with hasty hand,
Loosed is the rich embroidered band —
'Tis solemn solitude around,
There's not a murmur, not a sound —
Again a snowy hand is seen,
Again is raised the silken screen,
And lo! with light and noiseless tread,
Amreta glided from its shade!

Her veil was fluttering in the air,
Her brow, as Parian marble fair,
Was glittering bright with many a gem
Set in a brilliant diadem;
Her long dark hair was floating far,
Braided with many a diamond star;
Her eye was raised, and Oh! that eye
Seemed only formed to gaze on high!
For Oh, more piercing bright its beam
Than diamonds 'neath Golconda's stream;
That angel-eye was only given
To look upon its native heaven!
The glow upon her cheek was bright,
But it came, and it fled like a meteor's light;
A brilliant tear was still lingering there,
And Oh, it was shed for the Subahdar!

O'er ev'ry tear the maiden shed,
The heart of Amir Khan had bled;
Now Amir Khan, she weeps for thee,
Oh! what must be thy ecstasy?
For Amir Khan Amreta weeps,
Yet Amir Khan unheeding sleeps!
Like crystal dew-drops purely glowing,
O'er his pale brow her tears are flowing;
She wipes them with her veil away,
Less sacred far — less sweet than they!

Where was that eye whose ardent gaze
Had warmed her bosom with its rays?
Where was that glance of love and woe?
Where was that proud heart's throbbing glow?
All, all was cold and silent there,
And all was death, and dark despair!
She hid her face, now cold and pale,
Within her sweetly scented veil;
Then seized her lute, and a strain so clear,
So soft, so mournful arose on the air,
That Oh! it was sweet as the music of heaven,
O'er a lost one returning, a sinner forgiven!
Such notes as repentance in sorrow might sing,
Notes wafted to heaven by Israfil's wing: —

SONG.

Star of the morning! — this bosom was cold,
When forced from my native shade,
And I wrapp'd me around in my mantle's fold,
A mournful Circassian maid!

I vowed that rapture should never move
This changeless cheek, this rayless eye,
I vowed to feel neither bliss, nor love' —
In silence to meet thee, and then to die!

Each burning sigh thy bosom hath breathed,
Has been melting that chain away;
The galling chain which around me I wreath'd,
On the morn of that fatal day!

Tis done! and this night I have broken the vow
Which bound me in silence for ever!
And thy spirit hath fled from a world of woe,
To return again, never! Oh never!

My soul is sad! and my heart is weary!
For thy bosom is cold to me;
Without thy smile the world is dreary,
And I will fly with thee!

Together we'll float down eternity's stream,
Twin stars on the breast of the billow,
The splendours of Paradise round us shall beam,
And thy bosom shall be my pillow!

Then open thine arms bright star of the morning!
My grave in thy bosom shall be,
The glories of Paradise'round us are dawning,
My Heaven is only with thee!

Hushed were the words, and hush'd the song,
Which sadly, sweetly flow'd along,
But Amir Khan's warm heart beat high,
Though closed and rayless was his eye;
And every note which struck his ear,
Whisper'd a hovering angel near;
And each warm tear that wet his cheek,
Her long-concealed regard bespeak;
His bosom bounded to be free,
And fluttered, — wild with ecstasy!
Oh! would the magic charm had passed!
Would that the morn would break at last!
But no — it will not, may not be!
He is not, nor can yet be free!

But hark! Amreta's murmurs rise,
Sweet as the bird of Paradise;
She bowed her head, and deeply sighed,
'Yes, Amir Khan, I am thy Bride!
And here the crimson hand of death
Shall wed us with a rosy wreath!
My blood shall join us as it flows,
And bind us in a deep repose!' —

Beneath her veil a light is beaming,
A dagger in her hand is gleaming,
And livid was the light it threw,
A pale, cold, death-like stream of blue,
Around her form of angel brightness,
And o'er her brow of marble whiteness!

Awake! Oh! Amir Khan, awake! — Canst thou not rouse thee for her sake?
Beside thee can Amreta stand,
The fatal dagger in her hand,
And canst thou still regardless lie,
And let thy loved Amreta die?
Awake! oh, Amir Khan! awake,
And rouse thee for Amreta's sake!

— Like lightning from a midnight cloud,
The Subahdar, from 'neath his shroud,
Burst the cold, magic, death-like band,
And snatched the dagger from her hand!
The maiden sunk upon his breast,
And deep, and lengthened was her rest!
There was no sigh, no murmur there,
And scarcely breathed the Subahdar,
While almost fearing to be blest,
He clasped Amreta to his breast!

Deep buried in his mantle's fold,
He felt not that her cheek was cold;
His own heart throbbed with pleasure's thrill,
But whispered not that hers was still! —
— Yes! — the wild flow of blissful joy,
Which, bursting, threatened to destroy,
Gave to her soul a rest from feeling;
A transient torpor gently stealing
O'er beating pulse, and throbbing breast,
Had calmed her ev'ry nerve to rest;
— But see! the tide of life returns,
Once more her cheek with rapture burns,
Once more her dark eye's heav'nly beam
Pours forth its full and piercing gleam,
Once more her heart is bounding high,
Too full to weep — too blest to sigh!