« AnteriorContinuar »
While I in fix'd attention gaze,
While I reject thy offer'd hand,
Ah! Laura, while I thus impart
The russet suit of camel's hair,
With spirits light, and eye serene,
Than all the trappings of a queen.
+ Maisuna was a daughter of the tribe of Calab, and was married whilst very young to the Khaliph Mowiah. This exalted situation, however, by na.
The humble tent, and murmuring breeze
That whistles thro' its fluttering walls,
Better than towers and splendid halls.
The attendant colts that bounding fly,
And frolic by the litter's side,
Than gorgeous mules in all their pride.
The watch-dog's voice that bays, whene'er
A stranger seeks his master's cot,
Than yonder trumpet's long-drawn note.
The rustic youth, unspoil'd by art,
Son of my kindred, poor but free,
Be dearer, pamper'd fool, than thee.
means suited the disposition of Maisuna; and, amidst all the pomp and splendour of Damascus, she languished for the simple pleasures of her native desert.
These feelings gave birth to the preceding simple stanzas, which she took delight in singing, whenever she could find an opportunity to indulge her melancholy in private. She was overheard one day by Mowiah, who, as a punishment, ordered her to retire from court. Maisuna immediately obeyed, and taking her infant son, Yezid, with her, returned to Yeman, her native place, to enjoy what“ was dearer to her bosom far than all the trappings of a queen,"
I SAW THY FORM IN YOUTHFUL PRIME.
I saw thy form in youthful prime,
Nor thought that pale decay
And waste its bloom away, Mary!
Which fleets not with the breath ;
Than in thy smile of death, Mary!
As streams that run o'er golden mines,
With modest murmurs glide,
Within their gentle tide, Mary!
Thy radiant genius shone,
Seem'd worthless in thy own, Mary!
If souls could always dwell above,
Thou ne'er hadst left thy sphere;
We ne'er had lost thee here, Mary!
Tho' fairest forms we see,
Than to remember thee, Mary!
Prove false to thee, my love !-ah! ng
It never shall be said
Was e'er by me betray'd, Mary.
No, ne'er at splendor's shrine,
The right to call thee mine, Mary.
Nor e'er shall beauty, save thine own,
A moment o'er me sway,
Hast those will ne'er decay, Mary.
For thou art all to me;
Would seem, if wanting thee, Mary.
THE SUMMER GLOAMIN *
AIR-Alexander Donn's Strathspey.
The midges dance aboon the burn,
The dew begins to fa',
Set up their e’ening ca';
Rings through the briery shaw,
Around the castle wa'.
* This song, though not generally known, our readers will be gratified to learn, is the production of the late R. Tannahin.