Thus have I cried, but cried in vain, For soon the songstress of the grove, As though the morn awaken'd pain,

More faintly breath'd her song of love.

But though she shuns my wistful sight,
So softly, sweetly does she sing,
I deem her not the bird of night,
Bur hail the poet of the spring.

OMAR at the TOMB of AZZA.

By GEORGE GOODWIN.

Roses! alas in vain ye

bloom!

In vain your rubied blossoms glow, Azza is dead! and o'er her tomb,

The night-wind glides in murmurs low.

Almond! in vain thy drops of light,

Hang quivering on the nectar'd gale, Dim are those gems that once so bright, With melting radiance charm'd the vale;

For me in vain the ambrosial showers,
Pregnant with liquid life descend;
For me in vain the panting flowers,
Reviv'd, their fragrant bosoms bend.

In vain for me the Tamarinds wave,
Their shadowy branches o'er yon hill;
Azza is dead! and from her grave,

A thousand flowers fresh sweets distil.

Light of my soul! my Azza's dead,
Wild flash my eyes with phrenzied fire,
Joy smiles no more, each hope is fled,
Grief blights the blossoms of desire !

Who has not seen her yellow hair,

Soft lingering on the conscious gale? Who has not mark'd her form so fair, Oft glide along the Alurian vale?

Who has not seen those dark black eyes, Whose liquid chrystal gleam'd with love, Who has not heard her fragrant sighs,

Whilst rambling in the Palm-tree grove?

Sweet Moon! alas thy tranquil beam,
Now rising o'er the cloudy steeps,
With mellowing lustre gilds the stream,
That murmurs wild where Azza sleeps.

Oh! it was sweet with her to rove,
And mark thy tremulous lustre play,
On the green hill, the citron grove,
And sing the transient hours away.

Oh! it was sweet beneath thy light,
Whilst gazing on her brilliant eyes,
To catch the odorous gale of night,

That stole its sweets from Azza's sighs!

Then lovely Moon! I bless'd thy beams,
Gaz'd on her form, by her caress'd;
Love revell'd then in golden dreams,
And oh! what transport swell'd my

breast!

Then silver Moon! swift fled the hours,
Love warbled loud his sweetest lay,
Joy deck'd our brows with laughing flowers,
And rapture pour'd his brightest ray!

But now alas! I rove alone,

Blanch'd is my cheek, and dim my eye,
Echo repeats each heartfelt groan,
And murmurs every burning sigh.

He sigh'd no more, the dews of night
Fell on his cheek so cold and pale,
The sorrowing Moon withdrew her light,

And darkness mourn'd along the vale !

Soon as the Sun dispell'd the gloom,
And flash'd upon the eastern wave,
The Alurian youths bewail'd his doom,
And Omar shared his Azza's grave.

The love-eyed Gazels sport along,
Where now the youthful beauties sleep;
The Camel-drivers cease their song,
And o'er their mingled ashes weep!

And often as the pale moon hangs

Her full-orb'd beauty midst the skies, The Alurian maids rehearse the pangs, That clos'd the faithful Omar's eyes.

And as in silver tones they sing

That she was lovely, he was brave, They kiss the sweetest flowers of spring, And strew them o'er the lovers grave.

The ambrosial kiss of beauty glows
And gives new fragrance to each flower;
Their gems of grief empearl the rose,

And add fresh life to beauty's power.