AMIR KHAN.
15
The splendors of Paradise round us shall beam,
And thy bosom shall be my pillow!
Then open thine arms, bright star of the morning!
My grave in thy bosom shall be,
The glories of Paradise round us are dawning,
My heaven is only with thee!
And thy bosom shall be my pillow!
Then open thine arms, bright star of the morning!
My grave in thy bosom shall be,
The glories of Paradise round us are dawning,
My heaven is only with thee!
Hushed were the words, and hushed the song,
Which sadly, sweetly flowed along,
But Amir Khan's warm heart beat high,
Though closed and rayless was his eye;
And every. note which struck his ear,
Whispered a hovering angel near;
And each warm tear that wet his cheek,
Her long-concealed regard bespeak;
His bosom bounded to be free,
And fluttered,—wild with ecstasy!
O! would the magic charm had passed!
Would that the morn would break at last!
But no,—it will not, may not be!
He is not, nor can yet be free!
Which sadly, sweetly flowed along,
But Amir Khan's warm heart beat high,
Though closed and rayless was his eye;
And every. note which struck his ear,
Whispered a hovering angel near;
And each warm tear that wet his cheek,
Her long-concealed regard bespeak;
His bosom bounded to be free,
And fluttered,—wild with ecstasy!
O! would the magic charm had passed!
Would that the morn would break at last!
But no,—it will not, may not be!
He is not, nor can yet be free!
But hark! Amreta's murmurs rise,
Sweet as the bird of Paradise;
She bowed her head, and deeply sighed,
"Yes, Amir Khan, I am thy bride!
And here the crimson hand of death
Sweet as the bird of Paradise;
She bowed her head, and deeply sighed,
"Yes, Amir Khan, I am thy bride!
And here the crimson hand of death
