Pied horses prancing fiercely north,
Three lakhs the cup borne in the rear!

When to Ammoria he did win,

He smote and drove the dogs of Roum, And rode his spotted stallion in,

Crying, "Labbayki! I am come!"
Then downward from her prison-place
Joyful the Arab lady crept;
She held her hair before her face,

She kiss'd his feet, she laugh'd and wept.

She pointed where that lord was laid :
They drew him forth, he whin'd for
grace:
Then with fierce eyes Mohtasim said
"She whom thou smotest on the face
Had scorn, because she call'd her king:
Lo! he is come! and dost thou think
To live, who didst this bitter thing

While Mohtasim at peace did drink?"

Flash'd the fierce sword-roll'd the lord's head;

The wicked blood smok'd in the sand. "Now bring my cup!" the Caliph said. Lightly he took it in his hand,

As down his throat the sweet drink ran
Mohtasim in his saddle laugh'd,
And cried, " Taiba asshrab alan!

By God! delicious is this draught!

AFTER DEATH IN ARABIA

HE who died at Azan sends This to comfort all his friends:

Faithful friends! It lies, I know,
Pale and white and cold as snow;
And ye say, "Abdallah 's dead!"
Weeping at the feet and head.
I can see your falling tears,

--

I can hear your sighs and prayers;
Yet I smile and whisper this,
"I am not the thing you kiss
Cease your tears, and let it lie;
It was mine, it is not I."

Sweet friends! What the women lave
For its last bed of the grave,
Is a tent which I am quitting,
Is a garment no more fitting,
Is a cage from which, at last,
Like a hawk my soul hath pass'd.
Love the inmate, not the room,

The wearer, not the garb, — the plume

Farewell, friends! Yet not farewell;
Where I am, ye, too, shall dwell.
I am gone before your face,
A moment's time, a little space.
When ye come where I have stepp'd
Ye will wonder why ye wept ;
Ye will know, by wise love taught,
That here is all, and there is naught.
Weep awhile, if ye are fain, —
Sunshine still must follow rain;
Only not at death, for death,
Now I know, is that first breath
Which our souls draw when we enter
Life, which is of all life centre.

Be ye certain all seems love,
View'd from Allah's throne above;
Be

ye stout of heart, and come Bravely onward to your home! La Allah illa Allah! yea!

Thou love divine! Thou love alway!

He that died at Azan gave

This to those who made his grave.

His nobleness he had of none, War's Master taught him war,

And prouder praise that Master gave than meaner lips can mar;

Gone to his grave, his duty done; if farther any seek,

He left his life to answer them,― a soldier's, let it speak!

'T was his to sway a blunted sword, - to fight a fated field,

While idle tongues talk'd victory, to struggle not to yield;

Light task for placeman's ready pen to plan a field for fight,

Hard work and hot with steel and shot to win that field aright.

VERSAILLES

(1784)

IN Carnival we were, and supp'd that night In a long room that overlook'd the Square, When that strange matter happ'd of which you ask.

We rang all pleasure's carillon that week; Feasts and rich shows, and hunting in the woods,

Light love that liv'd on change, deep drinking, mirth

As mad as Nero's on the Palatine ;

The women were as wild as we, and, like The King's, our money flew about in showers.

They said, "The people starv'd"; it could not be ;

We spent a million on the Carnival. And now for fifty years gone by I have heard

"The people starve"

useless beasts

Why then do the

Gender so fast? Less mouths, more bread!

For me,

I do not care whether they live or die, Canaille the dunghill breeds,

The

mond car'd,

but Drum

High o'er his head, and, crying "Horror, horror,"

Fell like a stabb'd man prone upon the floor.

We laid him on a couch and cried, "Speak speak,

then

It was a glorious fire, and on that night
I led the feast, and roof and table rang
With revelry: till at the height of noise
A sudden silence fell, and while we smil'd,
Waiting for whom should break it, the
great clock

Struck three in the still air and a hush'd

sound

Like coming wind pass'd by, and in its breath

I thought I heard, far off, a wail and roar
As if a city perish'd at one stroke ;
The rest heard not, but Drummond starting

up

And muttering

troops are nigh," Strode to the window. seem'd,

Half asleep he

hair,

-

fire,

and trance

And laughter please the night - when momently

The moon went out, and from the darkness stream'd

A hissing flood of rain that where it fell Changed into blood, and 'twixt the courtyard stones

Blood well'd as water from a mountain moss;

And the gay crowd, unwitting, walk'd in

it:

Bubbling it rose past ankle, knee, and waist, From waist to throat; and still they walk'd as if

They knew it not, until a fierce wind lash'd The crimson sea, and beat it into waves, And when its waves smote on their faces, then

They knew and shriek'd, but all in vain; the blood,

Storming upon them, whelm'd and drown'd them all;

At which a blinding lightning like a knife Gash'd the cloud's breast, and dooming thunder peal'd.

I woke, and crying 'Horror' knew no

A place in d'Artois' stable!" These are the scum

That Drummond fear'd — Artois shall flog the man.

THE JUNGFRAU'S CRY

I, VIRGIN of the Snows, have liv'd
Uncounted years apart;

Mated with Sunlight, Stars and Heaven,
But I am cold at heart.

High mates! Ye teach me purity,
And lonely thought and truth;
But I have never liv'd, and yet

I have eternal youth.

Blow, tropic winds, and warm rains, fall, And melt my snowy crest;

Let soft woods clothe my shoulders fair, Deep grass lie on my breast.

And let me feed a thousand herds,
And hear the tinkling bells,
Till the brown châlets cluster close
In all my stream-fed dells.

So may I hear the sweep of scythes, And beating of the flails,