A fourth approaches,... who is this That enters in the Bower of Bliss? No form so fair might painter find Among the daughters of mankind; For death her beauties hath refin'd, And unto her a form hath given Fram'd of the elements of Heaven; Pure dwelling-place for perfect mind. She stood and gaz'd on sire and child; Her tongue not yet had power to speak, The tears were streaming down her cheek; And when those tears her sight beguil❜d, And still her faultering accents fail'd, The Spirit, mute and motionless, Spread out her arms for the caress, Made still and silent with excess Of love and painful happiness.

The Maid that lovely form survey'd ;
Wistful she gaz'd, and knew her not;

But Nature to her heart convey'd A sudden thrill, a startling thought,

A feeling many a year forgot,
Now like a dream anew recurring,
As if again in every vein

Her mother's milk was stirring. With straining neck and earnest eye She stretch'd her hands imploringly,

As if she fain would have her nigh, Yet fear'd to meet the wish'd embrace, At once with love and awe opprest. Not so, Ladurlad; he could trace, Though brighten'd with angelic grace, His own Yedillian's earthly face; He ran and held her to his breast! Oh joy above all joys of Heaven, By Death alone to others given, This moment hath to him restor'd The early-lost, the long-deplor’d.

They sin who tell us love can die.

With life all other passions fly,

All others are but vanity.

In Heaven Ambition cannot dwell, Nor Avarice in the vaults of Hell; Earthly these passions of the Earth, They perish where they have their birth; But Love is indestructible.

Its holy flame for ever burneth,

From Heaven it came, to Heaven returneth;
Too oft on Earth a troubled guest,

At times deceiv'd, at times opprest,
It here is tried and purified,

Then hath in Heaven its perfect rest:
It soweth here with toil and care,
But the harvest-time of Love is there.
Oh! when a Mother meets on high

The Babe she lost in infancy,

Hath she not then, for pains and fears,
The day of woe, the watchful night,
For all her sorrow, all her tears,
An over-payment of delight!

A blessed family is this

Assembled in the Bower of Bliss!

Strange woe, Ladurlad, hath been thine, And pangs beyond all human measure, And thy reward is now divine,

A foretaste of eternal pleasure.
He knew indeed there was a day
When all these joys would pass away,
And he must quit this blest abode ;
And, taking up again the spell,
Groan underneath the baleful load,

And wander o'er the world again
Most wretched of the sons of men:
Yet was this brief repose, as when
A traveller in the Arabian sands,
Half-fainting on his sultry road,

Hath reach'd the water-place at last;
And resting there beside the Well,
Thinks of the perils he has past,
And gazes o'er the unbounded plain,
The plain which must be travers'd still,

And drinks,...yet cannot drink his fill;
Then girds his patient loins again.

So to Ladurlad now was given

New strength, and confidence in Heaven,
And hope, and faith invincible.

For often would Ereenia tell

Of what in elder days befell,
When other Tyrants, in their might,
Usurp'd dominion o'er the earth;
And Veeshnoo took a human birth,
Deliverer of the Sons of men ;

And slew the huge Ermaccasen,
And piece-meal rent, with lion force,
Errenen's accursed corse,

And humbled Baly in his pride;

And when the Giant Ravanen

Had borne triumphant, from his side, Sita, the earth-born God's beloved bride, Then, from his island-kingdom, laugh'd to scorn The insulted husband, and his power defied; How to revenge the wrong in wrath he hied,