Page:Oriental Sketches Dramatic Sketches and Tales.pdf/48

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How calm, how lovely is the soft repose Of nature sleeping in the summer night; How sweet, how lullingly the current flows Beneath the stream of melted chrysolite, Where Ganges spreads its floods,—reflecting o'er    Its silvery surface, with those countless stars The ingot gems of Heaven's cerulean floor, Mosques, groves, and cliffs, and pinnacled minars.

The air is fresh, and yet the evening breeze Has died away; so hushed, 'tis scarcely heard To breathe amid the clustering lemon trees, Whose snowy blossoms, by its faint sighs stirred, Give out their perfume; and the bulbul's notes Awake the echoes of the balmy clime; While from yon marble-domed pagoda floats The music of its bell's soft, silvery chime.