XLI.

 And nestling in that arbour's leafy twine,
 From cedar's top to violet's lowly bell,
 Were birds, now hush'd, of plumage all divine,
 That, as the quivering radiance on them fell,
 Shot back such hues as stain the orient shell,
 Touching the deep, green shades with light from eyes
 Jacinth, and jet, and blazing carbuncle,
 And gold-dropt coronets, and wings of dyes
Bathed in the living streams of their own Paradise.

XLII.

 The Angel knew the warning of that storm;
 But saw the shudd'ring Minstrel's step draw near,
 And felt the whole deep witchery of her form;
 Her sigh was music's echo to his ear;
 He loved—and what has love to do with fear?
 Now night had droop'd on earth her raven wing,
 But in the arbour all was splendour clear;
 And, like twin spirits in its charmed ring,
Shone that sweet child of earth and that star-diadem'd king.

XLIII.

 For, whether 'twas the light's unusual glow,
 Or that some dazzling change had on her come;
 Her look, though lovely still, was loftier now,
 Her tender cheek was flush'd with brighter bloom;
 Yet in her azure eyebeam gather'd gloom,
 Like evening's clouds across its own blue star,
 Then would a sudden flash its depths illume;
 And wore she but the wing and gemm'd tiar,
She seem'd instinct with might to make the clouds her car.

XLIV.

 She slowly raised her arm, that, bright as snow,
 Gleam'd like a rising meteor through the air,
 Shedding white lustre on her turban'd brow;
 And gazed on heaven, as wrapt in solemn prayer;
 She still look'd woman, yet more proudly fair;
 And as she stood and pointed to the sky,
 With that fix'd look of loveliness and care,
 The Angel thought, and check'd it with a sigh,
He saw some Spirit fallen from immortality.

XLV.

 The silent prayer was done; and now she moved
 Faint to his footstool, and, upon her knee,
 Besought her lord, if in his heaven they loved,
 That, as she never more his face must see,
 She there might pledge her heart's fidelity.
 Then turn'd, and pluck'd a cluster from the vine,
 And o'er a chalice waved it, with a sigh,
 Then stoop'd the crystal cup before the shrine.
In wrath the Angel rose—the guilty draught was wine!

XLVI.

 She stood; she shrank; she totter'd. Down he sprang,
 Clasp'd with one hand her waist, with one upheld
 The vase—his ears with giddy murmurs rang;
 His eye upon her dying cheek was spell'd;
 Up to the brim the draught of evil swell'd
 Like liquid rose, its odour touch'd his brain;
 He knew his ruin, but his soul was quell'd;
 He shudder'd—gazed upon her cheek again,
Press'd her pale lip, and to the last that cup did drain.

XLVII.

 Th' enchantress smiled, as still in some sweet dream,
 Then waken'd in a long, delicious sigh,
 And on the bending Spirit fix'd the beam
 Of her deep, dewy, melancholy eye.
 The undone Angel gave no more reply
 Than hiding his pale forehead in the hair
 That floated on her neck of ivory,
 And breathless pressing, with her ringlets fair,
From his bright eyes the tears of passion and despair.

XLVIII.

 The heaven was one blue cope, inlaid with gems
 Thick as the concave of a diamond mine,
 But from the north now fly pale, phosphor beams,
 That o'er the mount their quivering net entwine;
 The smallest stars through that sweet lustre shine;
 Then, like a routed host, its streamers fly:
 Then, from the moony horizontal line
 A surge of sudden glory floods the sky,
Ocean of purple waves, and melted lazuli.

XLIX.

 But wilder wonder smote their shrinking eyes:
 A vapour plunged upon the vale from heaven,
 Then, darkly gathering, tower'd of mountain size;
 From its high crater column'd smokes were driven;
 It heaved within, as if pent flames had striven
 With mighty winds to burst their prison hold,
 Till all the cloud-volcano's bulk was riven
 With angry light, that seem'd in cataracts roll'd,
Silver, and sanguine steel, and streams of molten gold.

L.

 Then echoed on the winds a hollow roar,
 An earthquake groan, that told convulsion near:
 Out rush'd the burthen of its burning core,
 Myriads of fiery globes, as day-light clear.
 The sky was fill'd with flashing sphere on sphere,
 Shooting straight upward to the zenith's crown.
 The stars were blasted in that splendour drear,
 The land beneath in wild distinctness shone,
From Syria's yellow sands to Libanus' summit-stone.