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AMIR KHAN.
Shall wed us with a rosy wreath!
My blood shall join us as it flows,
And bind us in a deep repose!"

Beneath her veil a light is beaming,
A dagger in her hand is gleaming,
And livid was the light it threw,
A pale, cold, death-like stream of blue,
Around her form of angel brightness,
And o'er her brow of marble whiteness!

Awake! O Amir Khan, awake!
Canst thou not rouse thee for her sake?
Beside thee can Amreta stand,
The fatal dagger in her hand,
And canst thou still regardless lie,
And let thy loved Amreta die?
Awake! O Amir Khan, awake!
And rouse thee for Amreta's sake!

—Like lightning from a midnight cloud,
The Subahdar, from 'neath his shroud,
Burst the cold, magic, death-like band,
And snatched the dagger from her hand!
The maiden sunk upon his breast,
And deep and lengthened was her rest!
There was no sigh, no murmur there,
And scarcely breathed the Subahdar,
While almost fearing to be blest,
He clasped Amreta to his breast:!
Deep buried in his mantle's fold,