She's home again! she's home, she's home!
Away all cares and griefs and pain;
I knew she would-she's back from Rome;
She's home again! she's home again!
"The family's gone abroad," they said,
September last-they told me so;
Since then my lonely heart is dead,
My blood, I think's forgot to flow.

She's home again! away all care!
O fairest form the world can show!
O beaming eyes! O golden hair!

O tender voice, that breathes so low!
O gentlest, softest, purest heart!

O joy, O hope!" My tiger, ho!"
Fitz-Clarence said; we saw him start-
He galloped down to Bolton Row.

THE GHAZUL, OR ORIENTAL LOVE-SONG.

THE ROCKS.

I was a timid little antelope;

My home was in the rocks, the lonely rocks.

I saw the hunters scouring on the plain ;
I lived among the rocks, the lonely rocks.

I was a-thirsty in the summer-heat;
I ventured to the tents beneath the rocks.

Zuleikah brought me water from the well;
Since then I have been faithless to the rocks.

I saw her face reflected in the well;

Her camels since have marched into the rocks.

I look to see ber image in the well;
I only see my eyes, my own sad eyes.
My mother is alone among the rocks.

THE MERRY BARD.

ZULEIKAH! The young Agas in the bazaar are slimwaisted and wear yellow slippers. I am old and hideous. One of my eyes is out, and the hairs of my beard are mostly grey. Praise be to Allah! I am a merry bard.

There is a bird upon the terrace of the Emir's chief wife. Praise be to Allah! He has emeralds on his neck, and a ruby tail. I am a merry bard. He deafens me with his diabolical screaming.

There is a little brown bird in the basket-maker's cage. Praise be to Allah! He ravishes my soul in the moonlight. I am a merry bard.

The peacock is an Aga, but the little bird is a Bulbul.

I am a little brown Bulbul.

Come and listen in the

moonlight. Praise be to Allah! I am a merry bard.

THE CAÏQUE.

YONDER to the kiosk, beside the creek,

Paddle the swift caïque.

Thou brawny oarsman with the sun-burnt cheek,

Quick! for it soothes my heart to hear the Bulbul speak.

Ferry me quickly to the Asian shores,

Swift bending to your oars.

Beneath the melancholy sycamores,

Hark! what a ravishing note the love-lorn Bulbul pours.

Behold, the boughs seem quivering with delight,

The stars themselves more bright,

As mid the waving branches out of sight

The Lover of the Rose sits singing through the night.

Under the boughs I sat and listened still,

I could not have

my fill.

"How comes," I said, "such music to his bill? Tell me for whom he sings so beautiful a trill.”

“Once I was dumb," then did the Bird disclose,
But looked upon the Rose;

And in the garden where the loved one grows,
I straightway did begin sweet music to compose."

"O bird of song, there's one in this caïque

The Rose would also seek,

So he might learn like you to love and speak."

Then answered me the bird of dusky beak,

"The Rose, the Rose of Love blushes on Leilah's cheek."

He mused upon this curious case

And swore he'd change the pigtail's place, And have it hanging at his face

Not dangling there behind him.

Says he, "the mystery I've found,-
I'll turn me round,"—he turned him round;
But still it hung behind him.

Then round, and round, and out and in,
All day the puzzled sage did spin;
In vain-it mattered not a pin,—
The pigtail hung behind him.

And right, and left, and round about,
And up, and down, and in, and out,
He turned; but still the pigtail stout
Hung steadily behind him.

And though his efforts never slack,
And though he twist, and twirl, and tack,
Alas! still faithful to his back

The pigtail hangs behind him.

THE CHAPLET.

FROM UHLAND.

"Es pflückte Blümlein manigfalt."

A LITTLE girl through field and wood
Went plucking flowrets here and there,
When suddenly beside her stood

A lady wondrous fair!

The lovely lady smiled, and laid

A wreath upon the maiden's brow; "Wear it, 'twill blossom soon," she said, "Although 'tis leafless now."

The little maiden older grew

And wandered forth of moonlight eves, And sighed and loved as maids will do; When, lo! her wreath bore leaves.

Then was our maid a wife, and hung

Upon a joyful bridegroom's bosom ; When from the garland's leaves there sprung Fair store of blossom.

And presently a baby fair

Upon her gentle breast she reared;

When midst the wreath that bound her hair,

Rich golden fruit appeared.