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honors that can be awarded to slavery without intrigue. But they have long occupied, nevertheless, a part of the "House of Bondage," who has lately multiplied her many mansions. It would be difficult, perhaps, to find the annals of a nation less stained with crimes than those of the Armenians, whose virtues have been those of peace, and their vices those of compulsion. But whatever may have been their destiny and it has been bitter-whatever it may be in future, their country must ever be one of the most interesting on the globe; and perhaps their language only requires to be more studied to become more attractive. If the Scriptures are rightly understood, it was ir Armenia that Paradise was placed - Armenia, which has paid as dearly as the descendants of Adam for that fleeting participation of its soil in the happiness of him who was created from its dust. It was in Armenia that the flood first abated, and the dove alighted. But with the disappearance of Paradise itself may be dated almost the unhappiness of the country; for though long a powerful kingdom, it was scarcely ever an independent one, and the satraps of Persia and the pachas of Turkey have alike desolated the region where God created man in his own image.

THOMAS MOORE. 1779-1852. (Manual, pp. 404-411.)



One morn a Peri at the gate
Of Eden stood, disconsolate;
And as she listened 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," exclaimed this child of air,
"Are the Lely 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 outblooms them all!
Though sunny the Lake of cool Cashmere,
With its plane-tree isle reflected clear,

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 O! '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 listened To her sad song, a tear-drop glistened Within his eyelids, like the spray

From Eden's fountain, when it lies On the blue flower, which - Bramins say-Blooms nowhere but in Paradise!

"Nymph of a fair but erring line!" Gently he said – "One hope is thine,

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'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 Pardoned in!"

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Cheered 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;
Chasing, with eager hands and eyes,
The beautiful blue damsel-flies,
That fluttered round the jasmine stems,
Like wingéd flowers or flying gems:
And, near the boy, who tired with play,
Now nestling 'mid the roses lay,
She saw a wearied man dismount

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Yet tranquil now that man of crime,
(As if the balmy evening time
Softened his spirit) looked and lay,
Watching the rosy infant's play; -
Though still, whene'er his eye by chanc
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,
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!

O, 'twas a sight that Heaven - that Child

A scene, which might have well beguiled

E'en haughty Eblis of a sigh

For glories lost and peace gone by!

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And how felt he, the wretched Man
Reclining there while memory ran
O'er many a year of guilt and strife,
Fiew 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 blessé! child!

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"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 e'en in the hour
That drop descends, contagion dies,
And health reanimates earth and skies!-
O, is it not thus, thou man of sin,

The precious tears of repentance fall?
Though foul thy fiery plagues within,


One heavenly drop hath dispelled 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 lingered yet,
There fell a light, more lovely far

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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, —
O! 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 forever! my task is done-

The Gates are passed, and Heaven is won!"

279. "TIS The Last Rose of Summer.

"Tis the last rose of summer

Left blooming alone;
All her lovely companions
Are faded and gone;
No flower of her kindred,

No rose-bud, is nigh,
To reflect back her blushes,

Or give sigh for sigh.

I'll not leave thee, thou lone one!

To pine on the stem;

Since the lovely are sleeping,

Go, sleep thou with them.

Thus kindly I scatter

Thy leaves o'er the bed,
Where thy mates of the garden
Lie scentless and dead.

So soon may I follow,

When friendships decay,
And from Love's shining circle
The gems drop away!

When true hearts lie withered,

And fond ones are flown,

O! who would inhabit

This bleak world alone?


Forget not the field where they perished,
The truest, the last of the brave,

All gone- and the bright hope we cherished

Gone with them, and quenched in their grave!

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