AMIR KHAN.
9
"Go thou! and if Amreta beWorthy of love, and worthy thee,When she beholds thee pale and cold,Wrapped in the damp sepulchral fold;When her eye wanders for that glowOnce burning on thy marble brow;Then, if her bosom's icy frameHath ever warmed 'neath passion's flame,'Twill heave tumultuous as it glowsLike Baikal's everlasting throes;And if, to-morrow eve, you pressThis pale cold floweret to your breast,Ere morning smiles, its spell will proveIf that cold heart be worth thy love!
PART II.
There's silence in the princely halls,And brightly blaze the lighted walls,While clouds of musk and incense riseFrom vases of a thousand dyes,And roll their perfumed treasures wide,In one luxuriant, fragrant tide;And glittering chandeliers of gold,Reflecting fire from every fold,Hung o'er the shrouded body there,Of Cashmere's once proud Subahdar!The crystal's and the diamond's raysKindled a wide and brilliant blaze;The ruby's blush, the coral's hue,
