'Twas one of those ambrosial eyes
A day of storm so often leaves
At its calm setting--when the West
Opens her golden bowers of rest,
And a moist radiance from the skies
Shoots trembling down, as from the eyes
Of some meek penitent whose last
Bright hours atone for dark ones past,
And whose sweet tears o'er wrong forgiven
Shine as they fall with light from heaven!
'Twas stillness all--the winds that late
Had rushed through KERMAN'S almond groves,
And shaken from her bowers of date
That cooling feast the traveller loves.[256]
Now lulled to languor scarcely curl
The Green Sea wave whose waters gleam
Limpid as if her mines of pearl
Were melted all to form the stream:
And her fair islets small and bright
With their green shores reflected there
Look like those PERI isles of light
That hang by spell-work in the air
But vainly did those glories burst
On HINDA'S dazzled eyes, when first
The bandage from her brow was taken,
And, pale and awed as those who waken
In their dark tombs--when, scowling near,
The Searchers of the Grave[257] appear.--
She shuddering turned to read her fate
In the fierce eyes that flasht around;
And saw those towers all desolate,
That o'er her head terrific frowned,
As if defying even the smile
Of that soft heaven to gild their pile.
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