y grief shall
cease, the grave shall be my friend. Thou wast agitated like the sand of
the desert; but now thou reposest as the water of the lake. Thou, like
the moon, hast disappeared; but, though unseen, the moon is still the
same; and now, although thy form from me is hid, still in my breast
remains the loved remembrance. Though far removed beyond my aching
sight, still is thy image in my heart beheld. Thy form is now departed,
but grief eternal fills its place. On thee my soul was fixed, and never
will thy memory be forgot. Thou art gone, and from this wilderness
escaped, and now reposest in the bowers of Paradise. I, too, after some
little time will shake off these bonds, and there rejoin thee. Till
then, faithful to the love I vowed, around thy tomb my footsteps will I
bend. Until I come to thee within this narrow cell, pure be thy shroud!
May Paradise everlasting be thy mansion blest! And be thy soul received
into the mercy of thy God! And may thy spirit by his grace be vivified
to all eternity!"

[125] A mole on the fair face of Beauty is not regarded as a
blemish, but the very contrary, by Asiatics--or by
Europeans either, else why did the ladies of the last
century patch their faces, if not (originally) to set
off the clearness of their complexion by contrast with
the little black wafer?--though (afterwards) often to
hide a pimple! Eastern poets are for ever raving over
the mole on a pretty face. Hafiz goes the length of
declaring:

"For the mole on the cheek of that girl of Shiraz
I would give away Samarkand and Bukhara"--

albeit they were none of his to give to anybody.

[126] Cf. Shelley, in the fine opening of that wonderful
poetical offspring of his adolescence, _Queen Mab_:

"Hath, then, the gloomy Power
Whose reign is in the tainted sepulchres
Seized on her sinless soul?"

* * * * *

"This," methinks I hear some misogynist exclaim, after reading it--"this
is rank nonsense--it is stark lunacy!" And so it is, perhaps. At all
events, these impassioned words are supposed to be uttered by a poor
youth who had gone mad from love. Our misogynist--and may I venture to
include the experienced married man?--will probably retort, that all
love between young folks is not only folly but sheer madness; and he
will be the more confirmed in t