Nor, indeed, could LALLA ROOKH herself help feeling
the kindness and splendor with which the young bridegroom welcomed
her;--but she also felt how painful is the gratitude which kindness from
those we cannot love excites; and that their best blandishments come over
the heart with all that chilling and deadly sweetness which we can fancy
in the cold, odoriferous wind[347] that is to blow over this earth in the
last days.
The marriage was fixed for the morning after her arrival, when she was,
for the first time, to be presented to the monarch in that Imperial Palace
beyond the lake, called the Shalimar. Though never before had a night of
more wakeful and anxious thought been passed in the Happy Valley, yet,
when she rose in the morning, and her Ladies came around her, to assist in
the adjustment of the bridal ornaments, they thought they had never seen
her look half so beautiful. What she had lost of the bloom and radiancy
of her charms was more than made up by that intellectual expression, that
soul beaming forth from the eyes, which is worth all the rest of
loveliness. When they had tinged her fingers with the Henna leaf, and
placed upon her brow a small coronet of jewels, of the shape worn by the
ancient Queens of Bucharia, they flung over her head the rose-colored
bridal veil, and she proceeded to the barge that was to convey her across
the lake;--first kissing, with a mournful look, the little amulet of
cornelian, which her father at parting had hung about her neck.
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