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But thoughts of slaughter past, and blood-stained fields,

Mar not the joys that gorgeous banquet yields;

Sparkles in cups of gold rich Cyprian wine,

Melts the Greek fig, the grapes of Ora shine;

Pears from fair Bactria vie with Kerman's peach,

And fruit from climes e'en Greeks have failed to reach —

Hot Indian Isles, to Scythia's mountain snows, —

Each luscious orb on plates of crystal glows.

Hark! in the gilded gallery, flute and lyre!

Strains soft as sighs of streaming

love respire; Then harp and sackbut bolder notes

ring out,

Like victory's paean o'er some army's rout.

And thus they revel; mirth and joy control

The sterner thoughts, the high aspiring soul;

And e'en the slaves, in sumptuous garments dressed,

Forget their toils to see their lords so blessed.

But what young beauty leans beside the king.

With form so graceful, air so languishing?

While other maids are glittering down that hall,

A moon mid earth's sweet stars, she

dims them all. Her mask is off, unveiled her radiant

head,

A lovelier veil those flower-bound

tresses spread; A spangled zone her Grecian robe

confines.

Bright on her breast a costly diamond shines,

But oh, more bright, that eye's entrancing ray

Melts where it falls, and steals the soul away!

Who looks must look again, and sighing own

Earth boasts, than tyrant Love's, no mightier throne:

Woman was born to vanquish, — he, the brave,

The nation-lramplcr, bowed, her veriest slave;

Yes, beauteous Thais, with Love's flag unfurled,

Conquered the blood-stained conqueror of the world!

THE PARADISE OF CAI1UL.

Oh, who Cabul's sweet region may behold,

When spring laughs out, or autumn

shows her gold, The meadows, orchards, streams

that glide in light, Nor deem lost Irem charms again his

sight;

That wondrous garden rivalling

Eden's bloom, Too blessed for man to view, this side

the tomb? Flowers here, of every scent and

form and dye, Lift their bright heads, and laugh

upon the sky. From the tall tulip with her rich

streaked bell, Where throned in state, Queen Mab

is proud to dwell. To lowly wind-flowers gaudier plants

eclipse. (lips. And pensile harebells with their dewy There turns the heliotrope to court

the sun,

And up green stalks the starry jasmines run:

The hyacinth in tender pink outvies

Beauty's soft cheek, and violets match her eyes;

Sweet breathe the henna flowers that harem girls

So love to twine among their glossy curls;

And here the purple pansy springs to birth,

Like some gay insect rising from the earth.

One sheet of bloom the level greensward yields,

And simple daisies speak of England's fields;

Drawn by sweet odor's spell, in humming glee.

flits round the gloomy stock, the robber-bee,

While to the gorgeous musk-rose, all night long.

The love-sick bulbul pours his melting song:

Then, too, the fruits through months

that hang and glow. Tempting as those which wrought

our mother's woe. Soft shines the mango on its stem so

tall,

Rich gleams beneath, the melon's golden hall;

How feasts the eye upon the bellshaped pear!

Bright cherries look like corals strung in air;

The purple plum, the grape the hand may reach,

Vie with the downy-skinned and

blushing peach; Though small, its place the luscious

strawberry claims, mid snowy flowers the radiant orange

flames;

To quench the thirst the cooling

guava see. And ripe pomegranates melting on

the tree.

And here, too, England's favorite

fruit is seen, The red-cheeked apple, veiled by

leaves of green: Ah! at the sight, sweet thoughts of

home awake, And foreign lands are welcomed for

its sake.

Thrice genial clime! O favored

sweet Cabal! Well art thou named the blessed, the

beautiful! With snow-peaked hills around thee,

— guarding arms! Ah! would thy sons were worthy of

thy charms!

William Julius Mickle.

THE SAILOR'S WIFE.

And are ye sure the news is true?

And are ye sure he's weel?
Is this a time to think o' wark?

Ye jades, lay by your wheel;
Is this the time to spin a thread,

When Colin's at the door?
Reach down my cloak, I'll to the quay.

And see him come ashore. For there's nae luck about the house.

There's nae luck at a'; There's little pleasure in the house

When our gudeman's awa'.

And give to me my bigonet,

My bishop's-satin gown;
For I maun tell the baillie's wife

That Colin's in the town.
My Turkey slippers maun gae on

My stockin's pearly blue;

It's a' to pleasure our gudeman,
For he's baith leal and true.

Rise, lass, and mak' a clean fireside,

Put on the middle pot;
Gie little Kate her button gown,

And Jock his Sunday coat; And make their shoon as black as slaes,

Their hose as white as snow; It's a' to please my ain gudeman, For he's been long awa'.

There's two fat hens upo' the coop

Been fed this month and mair; Mak' haste and thraw their necks about.

That Colin weel may fare; And spread the table neat and clean, Gar ilka thing look braw,

For wha can tell how Colin fared
When he was far awa'?

Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech,

His breath like caller air; His very foot has music in't

As he comes up the stair, — And will I see his face again?

And will I hear him speak? I'm downright dizzy wl' the thought,

In troth I'm like to greet!

If Colin's weel, and wecl content,

I hae nae mair to crave:
And gin I live to keep him sae

I'm blest aboon the lave:
And will I see his face again?

And will I hear him speak? I'm downright dizzy wl' the thought,

In troth I'm like to greet. For there's nae luck about the house,

There's nae luck at a'; There's little pleasure in the house

When our gudeman's awa'.

Abraham Perry Miller.

[From Connotation.]
REFUGE FliOM DOUBT.

0 Loving God of Nature! who

through all Hast never yet betrayed me to a fall, —

While following creeds of men I went astray.

And in distressing mazes lost my way; But turning back to Thee, I found

Thee true, And sweet as woman's love, and

fresh as dew, — Henceforth on Thee, and Thee alone

I rest,

Nor warring sects shall tear me from

Thy breast. While others doubt and wrangle o'er

their creeds,

I rest in Thee and satisfy my needs.

[From Conaotation.]
TURN TO THE HELPER.

As when a little child returned from play.

Finds the door closed and latched

across its way, Against the door, with infant push

and strain, It gathers all its strength and strives

in vain!

Unseen, within, a loving father stands And lifts the iron latch with easy hands;

Then, as he lightly draws the door aside,

He hides behind it, while with baby pride,—

And face aglow, in struts the little one, Flushed and rejoiced to think what

it has done, — So, when men find, across life's rugged way,

Strong doors of trouble barred from

day to day, And strive with all their power of

knees and hands, Unseen within the heavenly Father

stands,

And lifts each iron latch, while men

pass through, Flushed and rejoiced to think what

they can do!

Turn to the Helper, unto whom thou art

More near and dear than to thy

mother's heart,— Who is more near to thee than is the

blood

That warms thy bosom with its purple flood —

Who by a word can change the mental state

And make a burden light, however great!

O loving power! that, dwelling deep within.

Consoles our spirits in their woe and sin,—

When days were dark and all the

world went wrong, Nor any heart was left for prayer and

song, —

When bitter memory, o'er and o'er again,

Revolved the wrongs endured from

fellow-men; And showed how hopes decayed and

bore no fruit, And He who placed us here was deaf

and mute! — If then we turned on God in angry

wise,

And scorned his dealings with reproachful eyes

Questioned His goodness, and in foolish wrath,

Called hope a lie and ridiculed our faith,—

Did we not find, in such an evil hour, That far within us dwelt this loving Power?

No wrathful God within, to smite us down, [frown; Or turn his face away with angry But in the bitter heart, a smile began, Grew, all at once, within, and upward ran. Broke out upon the face — and, for awhile,

Despite all bitterness, we had to smile!

Because God's spirit that within us lay, [away!

Simply rose up, and smiled our wrath

This love endures through all things,

without end, And every soul has one Almighty

Friend.

Whose angels watch and tend it from its birth,

And heaven becomes the servant of the earth! [move Whate'er befall, our spirits live and In one vast ocean of Eternal Love!

[From Connotation.]
KEEP FAITH IN LOVE.

Keep faith in Love, the cure of every curse —

The strange, sweet wonder of the universe!

God loves a lover, and while time

shall roll, This wonder, Love, shall save the

human soul. Love is the heart's condition: youth

and age

Alike are subject to its tender rage: Age crowns the head with venerable snow.

But Life and Love forever mated go; Along life's far frontier, the aged move,

One foot beyond, and nothing left

but Love! And when the soul its mortal fears

resigns, [shines! The perfect world of love around it

John Milton.

ON TIME.

FLY, envious Time, till thou run out thy race, [hours.

Call on the lazy leaden-stepping

Whose speed is but the heavy plummet's pace;

And glut thyself with what thy womb devours,

Which is no more than what is false and vain,

And merely mortal dross;

So little is our loss,

So little is thy gain.

For when as each thing bad thou hast entombed,

And last of all thy greedy self consumed.

Then long Eternity shall greet our bliss

With an individual kiss;

And Joy shall overtake us as a flood, When every thing that is sincerely

good

And perfectly divine.

With truth, and peace, and love, shall

ever shine About the supreme throne Of him, to whose happy-making sight

alone

When once our heavenly-guided soul

shall climb, Then, all this earthy grossness quit, Attired with stars, we shall forever

sit.

Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee, O Time.

L'ALLEGRO.

Hence, loathed Melancholy,

Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born,

In Stygian cave forlorn,

'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy! Find out some uncouth cell, Where brooding darkness spreads his jealous wings, And the night raven sings;

There under ebon shades and lowbrowed rocks, As ragged as thy locks, In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.

But come, thou goddess fair and free,
In Heaven ycleped Euphrosyne,
And by men, heart-easing Mirth,
Whom lovely Venus at a birth
With two sister Graces more
To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore;
Or whether (as some sages sing)
The frolic wind that breathes the
spring,

Zephyr, with Aurora playing,
As he met her once a-Maying,
There on beds of violets blue,
And fresh-blown roses washed in
dew,

Filled her with thee, a daughter fair,
So buxom, blithe, and debonair.
Haste thee, nymph, and bring with
thee

Jest and youthful Jollity,

Quips and cranks, and wanton wiles.
Nods and becks, and wreathed Smiles,
Such as hang on Hebe's cheek.
And love to live in dimple sleek.
Sport that wrinkled Care derides,
And Laughter holding both his sides,
Come, and trip it as you go
On the light fantastic toe,
And in thy right hand lead with
thee

The mountain nymph, sweet Liberty;
And, if I give thee honor due,
Mirth, admit me of thy crew
To live with her, and live with thee,
In unreproved pleasures free;
To hear the lark begin his flight,
And singing startle the dull night,
From his watch-tower in the skies,
Till the dappled dawn doth rise;
Then to come in spite of sorrow.
And at my window bid good-morrow,
Through the sweet-briar, or the vine
Or the twisted eglantine;
While the Cock with lively din
Scatters the rear of darkness thin,
And to the stack, or the barn-door.
Stoutly struts his dames before:
Oft listening how the hounds and
horn

Oheerly rouse the slumbering morn.
From the side of some hoar hill,
Through the high wood echoing
shrill:

Some time walking, not unseen,
By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green,
Right against the eastern gate,
Where the great Sun begins his state,
Kobed in flames, and Amber light,
The clouds in thousand liveries
dight;

While the ploughman near at hand
Whistles o'er the furrowed land,
And the milkmaid singeth blithe,
And the mower whets his scythe,
And every shepherd tells his tale
Under the hawthorn in the dale.
Straight mine eye hath caught new
pleasures

Whilst the landskip round it measures;

Russet lawns and fallows gray,
Where the nibbling flocks do stray,
Mountains on whose barren breast
The laboring clouds do often rest,

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