| |
| IN 1 that proud temple of the Sun, | |
| Which rose to heaven on Balbee’s towers, | |
| Amid the altars, there was one, | |
| Whose only offerings were flowers; | |
| When morning o’er the glittering dome | 5 |
| Was blushing from her eastern home, | |
| Fresh garlands to that shrine were given | |
| Of flowers—bright flowers bathed in heaven. | |
| |
| And Persian girls, with deep blue eyes | |
| Of love, and clustering raven hair, | 10 |
| And brows as pure as their own skies, | |
| Were gather’d with their rose-wreaths there, | |
| To breathe their orisons and twine | |
| Their garlands on that lovely shrine, | |
| Whose incense, at the day-god’s flame, | 15 |
| Rose to the skies, from whence it came. | |
| |
| Beautiful there those bright ones knelt, | |
| Where Morn’s first holy light was flowing | |
| Pure from its crystal throne—they felt | |
| The day-spring in their bosom’s glowing | 20 |
| With life and joy—as through the aisles | |
| Their god came beaming all in smiles | |
| And love—oh! who could wish to part | |
| From that sweet worship of the heart! | |
| |
| The Persian’s fane has perished—gone | 25 |
| The shrine—the worship of the free | |
| All—all have faded like the tone | |
| Of music o’er the moonlit sea— | |
| No laughing eyes—no raven hair— | |
| No dewy wreaths are sparkling there— | 30 |
| Faded is every peerless gem, | |
| And beauty has gone down like them. | |
| |
| But love will have its altars still, | |
| And there is yet a worship born, | |
| Of hearts, that feel the joyous thrill | 35 |
| Of light and beauty in their morn; | |
| Hope’s deep-toned music lingers there | |
| Amid the roses and the air. | |
| Breathes incense all—while from above | |
| Bliss sparkles o’er the shrine of love. | 40 |
| |
| Such be this volume—let no trace | |
| Of sadness blight one leaflet here— | |
| The heart’s pure offerings to grace | |
| And loveliness should have no tear | |
| Amid their blossoms—but the dews | 45 |
| Of heaven should mingle with their hues; | |
| And all things fair and brightest twine | |
| Their wreaths of gladness o’er the shrine. | |
