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THE LUTE-PLAYER. FROM " HASSAN BEN KHALED.”

Scattered over mosaic floors
Are anemones, myrtles, and violets;
And a musical fountain throws its jets
Of a hundred colors into the air.
The dark sultana loosens her hair,
And stains with the henna plant the tips
Of her pearly nails, and bites her lips
Till they bloom again ; but alas, that rose
Not for the Sultan buds and blows !

Not for the Sultan Shah-Zaman
When he goes to the city Ispahan.

Then at a wave of her sunny hand,
The dancing girls of Samarcand
Float in like mists from Fairy-land !
And to the low voluptuous swoons
Of music, rise and fall the moons
Of their full brown bosoms. Orient blood
Runs in their veins, shines in their eyes;
And there in this Eastern paradise,
Filled with the fumes of sandal-wood,
And Khoten musk, and aloes, and myrrh,
Sits Rose in Bloom on a silk divan,
Sipping the wines of Astrackhan;
And her Arab lover sits with her.

That's when the Sultan Shah-Zaman
Goes to the city Ispahan.

Now, when I see an extra light
Flaming, flickering on the night,
From my neighbor's casement opposite,
I know as well as I know to pray,
I know as well as a tongue can say,

That the innocent Sultan Shah-Zaman
Has gone to the city Ispahan.

THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH.

“Music!' they shouted, echoing my demand,
And answered with a beckon of his hand
The gracious host, whereat a maiden, fair
As the last star that leaves the morning air,
Came down the leafy paths. Her veil revealed
The beauty of her face, which, half concealed
Behind its thin blue folds, showed like the moon
Behind a cloud that will forsake it soon.
Her hair was braided darkness, but the glance
Of lightning eyes shot from her countenance,
And showed her neck, that like an ivory tower
Rose o'er the twin domes of her marble breast.
Were all the beauty of this age compressed
Into one form, she would transcend its power.
Her step was lighter than the young gazelle's,
And as she walked, her anklet's golden bells
Tinkled with pleasure, but were quickly mute
With jealousy, as from a case she drew
With snowy hands the pieces of her lute,
And took her seat before me. As it grew
To perfect shape, her lovely arms she bent
Around the neck of the sweet instrument,
Till from her soft caresses it awoke
To consciousness, and thus its rapture spoke :
'I was a tree within an Indian vale,
When first I heard the love-sick nightingale
Declare his passion ; every leaf was stirred
With the melodious sorrow of the bird,
And when he ceased, the song remained with me.
Men came anon, and felled the harmless tree,
But from the memory of the songs I heard,
The spoiler saved me from the destiny
Whereby my brethren perished. O'er the sea
I came, and from its loud, tumultuous moan
I caught a soft and solemn undertone;
And when I grew beneath the maker's hand
To what thou seest, he sang (the while he planned)
The mirthful measures of a careless heart,
And of my soul his songs became a part.
Now they have laid my head upon a breast
Whiter than marble, I am wholly blest.
The fair hands smite me, and my strings com.

plain
With such melodious cries, they smite again,
Until, with passion and with sorrow swayed,
My torment moves the bosom of the maid,
Who hears it speak her own. I am the voice
Whereby the lovers languish or rejoice ;
And they caress me, knowing that my strain
Alone can speak the language of their pain.'

BONNIE WEE THING.

BONNIE wee thing! cannie wee thing!

Lovely wee thing! wert thou mine, I wad wear thee in my bosom,

Lest my jewel I should tine. Wishfully I look, and languish,

In that bonnie face o' thine ; And my heart it stounds wi' anguish,

Lest my wee thing be na mine.

Wit and grace, and love and beauty,

In ae constellation shine ; To adore thee is my duty,

Goddess o' this soul o' mine!
Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing,

Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine,
I wad wear thee in my bosom,
Lest my jewel I should tine.

ROBERT BURNS.

“Here ceased the fingers of the maid to stray
Over the strings; the sweet song died away
In mellow, drowsy murmurs, and the lute
Leaned on her fairest bosom, and was mute.

SERENADE.

Better than wine that music was to me; 1 I ARISE FROM DREAMS OF THEE.
Not the lute only felt her hands, but she
Played on my heart-strings, till the sounds be-
came

I ARISE from dreams of thee
Incarnate in the pulses of my frame.

In the first sweet sleep of night, Speech left my tongue, and in my tears alone

When the winds are breathing low, Found utterance. With stretched arms I im

And the stars are shining bright. plored

I arise from dreams of thee, Continuance, whereat her fingers poured

And a spirit in my feet A tenderer music, answering the tone

Has led me — who knows how ?Her parted lips released, the while her throat

To thy chamber-window, sweet ! Throbbed, as a heavenly bird were fluttering there,

The wandering airs they faint And gave her voice the wonder of his note.

On the dark, the silent stream, * His brow,' she sang, 'is white beneath his The champak odors fail hair ;

Like sweet thoughts in a dream; The fertile beard is soft upon his chin,

The nightingale's complaint, Shading the month that nestles warm within,

It dies upon her heart, As a rose nestles in its leaves ; I see

As I must die on thine,
His eyes, but cannot tell what hue they be,

O, beloved as thou art I
For the sharp eyelash, like a sabre, speaks
The martial law of Passion ; in his cheeks

0, lift me from the grass ! The quick blood mounts, and then as quickly

I die, I faint, I fail ! goes,

Let thy love in kisses rain Leaving a tint like marble when a rose

On my lips and eyelids pale. Is held beside it ;--- bid him veil his eyes,

My cheek is cold and white, alas ! Lest all my soul should unto mine arise,

My heart beats loud and fast : And he behold it!' As she sang, her glance

Oh! press it close to thine again,
Dwelt on my face ; her beauty, like a lance,

Where it will break at last !
Transfixed my heart. I melted into sighs,
Slain by the arrows of her beauteous eyes.

Why is her bosom made' (I cried) “a snare ?
Why does a single ringlet of her hair

HER SHADOW. Hold my heart captive ?' 'Would you know?' she said ;

| BENDING between me and the taper, 'It is that you are mad with love, and chains / While o'er the harp her white hands strayed, Were made for madmen.' Then she raised her The shadows of her waving tresses head

Above my hand were gently swayed. With answering love, that led to other strains, Until the lute, which shared with her the With every graceful movement waving, . • smart,

I marked their undulating swell; Rocked as in storm upon her beating heart. I watched them while they met and parted, Thus to its wires she made impassioned cries : Curled close or widened, rose or fell. “I swear it by the brightness of his eyes; I swear it by the darkness of his hair ;

I laughed in triumph and in pleasure --By the warm bloom his limbs and bosom wear ;

So strange the sport, so undesigned ! By the fresh pearls his rosy lips enclose ;

Her mother turned and asked me, gravely, By the calm majesty of his repose ;

“What thought was passing through my mind ?" By smiles I coveted, and frowns I feared, And by the shooting myrtles of his beard, —

'T is Love that blinds the eyes of mothers ;

| 'Tis Love that makes the young maids fair ! I swear it, that from him the morning drew Its freshness, and the moon her silvery hue,

She touched my hand ; my rings she counted ;

Yet never felt the shadows there. The son his brightness, and the stars their

Keep, gamesome Love, beloved Infant, And musk and camphor all their odorous breath :

8 breath : Keep ever thus all mothers blind; And if he answer not my love's desire,

And make thy dedicated virgins,
Day will be night to me, and Life be Death !'”

In substance as in shadow, kind !
BAYARD TAYLOR.

AUBREY DE VERE.

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.

fire,

SMILE AND NEVER HEED ME. This love even, all my worth, to the uttermost,

I should not love withal, unless that thou
Though, when other maids stand by,

Hadst set me an example, shown me how,
I may deign thee no reply,

When first thine earnest eyes with mine were
Turn not then away, and sigh, —

crossed, Smile, and never heed me!

And love called love. And thus, I cannot speak
If our love, indeed, be such

Of love even, as a good thing of my own.
As must thrill at every touch,

Thy soul hath snatched upmine all faint and weak,
Why should others learn as much ? -

And placed it by thee on a golden throne, Smile, and never heed me!

And that I love (O soul, we must be meek !)
Even if, with maiden pride,

Is by thee only, whom I love alone.
I should bid thee quit my side,
Take this lesson for thy guide,

IF thou must love me, let it be for naught
Smile, and never heed me!

Except for love's sake only. Do not say
But when stars and twilight meet,

f"I love her for her smile ... her look ... her way And the dew is falling sweet,

y Of speaking gently, -- for a trick of thought And thou hear'st my coming feet, —

That falls in well with mine, and certes brought Then - thou then — mayst heed me!

A sense of pleasant ease on such a day." CHARLES SWAIN For these things in themselves, beloved, may

Be changed, or change for thee, — and love so

wrought, SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE. May be unwrought so. Neither love me for

| Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry, Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand

A creature might forget to weep, who bore Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore

Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby. Alone upon the threshold of my door .

But love me for love's sake, that evermore Of individual life, I shall command

Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity. The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand Serenely in the sunshine as before,

I NEVER gave a lock of hair away Without the sense of that which I forbore, ...

To a man, Dearest, except this to thee, Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land

Which now upon my fingers thoughtfully Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine

I ring out to the full brown length and say With pulses that beat double. What I do

| “Take it.” My day of youth went yesterday ; And what I dream include thee, as the wine

My hair no longer bounds to my foot's glee. Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue

Nor plant I it from rose or myrtle tree, God for myself, He hears that name of thine,

As girls do, any more. It only may A And sees within my eyes the tears of two.

Now shade on two pale cheeks, the mark of tears,

Taught drooping from the head that hangs asid The face of all the world is changed, I think,

Through sorrow's trick. I thought the funeral. Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul

shears Move still, O still, beside me, as they stole

Would take this first, but Love is justified, Betwixt me and the dreadful outer brink

Takeitthou, ... finding pure, from all those years, Of obvious death, where I, who thought to sink,

The kiss my mother left here when she died. Was caught up into love, and taught the whole Of life in a new rhythm. The cup of dole

The soul's Rialto hath its merchandise ; God gave for baptism, I am fain to drink,

I barter curl for curl upon that mart, XIA And praise its sweetness, Sweet, with thee anear.

And from my poet's forehead to my heart, The names of country, heaven, are changed away

Receive this lock which outweighs argosies, For where thou art or shall be, there or here;

As purely black, as erst, to Pindar's eyes, And this... this luteand song... loved yesterday,

The dim purpureal tresses gloomed athwart (The singing angels know) are only dear,

» The nine white Muse-brows. For this counterpart, Because thy name moves right in what they say.

Thy bay-crown's shade, Beloved, I surmise,
Still lingers on thy curl, it is so black !

Thus, with a fillet of smooth-kissing breath,
INDEED this very love which is my boast, I tie the shadow safe from gliding back,

And which, when rising up from breast to brow, And lay the gift where nothing hindereth, Lj Doth crown me with a ruby large enow

Here on my heart, as on thy brow, to lack ' To draw men's eyes and prove the inner cost, ... | No natural heat till mine grows cold in death.

it,

SAT over again, and yet once over again, Who art dearer, better ! rather instantly That thou dost love me. Though the word re- Renew thy presence. As a strong tree should, peated

Rustle thy boughs and set thy trunk all bare, Should seem "a cuckoo-song," as thou dost treat And let these bands of greenery which insphere thee

XX

Drop heavily down, ... burst, shattered, everyRemember, never to the hill or plain,

where! Valley and wood, without her cuckoo-strain, Because, in this deep joy to see and hear thee Comes the fresh spring in all her green completed. And breathe within thy shadow a new air, Beloved, I, amid the darkness greeted

I do not think of thee, — I am too near thee. Bý a doubtful spirit-voice, in that doubt's pain Cry : "Speak once more -- thou lovest !” Who

| The first time that the sun rose on thine oath can fear Too many stars, though each in heaven shall roll,

To love me, I looked forward to the moon X Y

To slacken all those bonds which seemed too soon Too many flowers, though each shall crown the

And quickly tied to make a lasting troth. year? Say thou dost love me, love me, love me, -- toll

| Quick-loving hearts, I thought, may quickly The silver iterance !-- only minding, dear,

loathe ; To love me also in silence, with thy soul.

And, looking on myself, I seemed not one
For such man's love ! - more like an out of tune

Worn viol, a good singer would be wroth
Is it indeed so? If I lay here dead,!

To spoil his song with, and which, snatched in haste Wouldst thou miss any life in losing mine? | Is laid down at the first ill-sounding note. And would the sun for thee more coldly shine, I did not wrong myself so, but I placed Because of grave-damps falling round my head ? A wrong on thee. For perfect strains may float I marvelled, my Belovéd, when I read

Neath master-hands, from instruments defaced, Thy thought so in the letter. I am thine — And great souls, at one stroke, may do and doat. But ... so much to thee? Can I pour thy wine

- XXXV!!! While my hands tremble? Then my soul, instead | First time he kissed me, he but only kissed Of dreams of death, resumes life's lower range. The fingers of this hand wherewith I write : Then, love me, Love! look on me ... breathe on And ever since

e on And, ever since, it grew more clean and white, me !

Slow to world-greetings, quick with its “ O list!” As brighter ladies do not count it strange,

When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst For love, to give up acres and degree,

I could not wear here, plainer to my sight 1 yield the grave for thy sake, and exchange

Than that first kiss. The second passed in height My nearsweet view of Heaven, for earth with thee!

The first, and sought the forehead, and half missed,
Half falling on the hair. O, beyond meed!

That was the chrism of love, which love's own My letters ! all dead paper, ... mute and white !

crown, And yet they seem alive and quivering Yr

With sanctifying sweetness, did precede.
Against my tremulous hands which loose the string
And let them drop down on my knee to-night.

The third upon my lips was folded down
This said, ... he wished to have me in his sight

In perfect, purple state ; since when, indeed, Once, as a friend : this fixed a day in spring

I have been proud, and said, “My love, myown I". To come and touch my hand ... a simple thing, Yet I wept for it ! this, ... the paper 's light...

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. Said, Dear. I love thee; and I sank and quailed I love thee to the depth and breadth and height As if God's future thundered on my past.

| My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight This said, I am thine, and so its ink has paled For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. With lying at my heart that beat too fast.

I love thee to the level of every day's And this... O Love, thy words have ill availed, Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. X If what this said, I dared repeat at last ! I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;

I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. - xi

I love thee with the passion put to use I THINK of thee ! my thoughts do twine and bud in my old

In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. About thee, as wild vines, about a tree,

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose Putout broad leaves, and soon there's naught to see With my lost saints. - I love thee with the breath, Except the straggling green which hides the wood.

Smiles, tears, of all my life 1 - and, if God choose, Yet, O my palm-tree, be it understood

I shall but love thee better after death. I will not have my thoughts instead of thee

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

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BURD HELEN.

And he was ne'er sae lack * a knicht,

As ance wad bid her ride ; And she was ne'er sae mean a May,

As ance wad bid him bide.

Lord John he rade, Burd Helen ran,

A livelong summer-day; Until they cam to Clyde-water,

Was filled frae bank to brae.

("This beautiful tale of woman's love," wrote Dr. Robert Chambers in ww, -"beautiful in the pathos of its simple and touching narrative, and equally beautiful in the pathos of its simple and touching language, was first published by Percy, as an English ballad, under the title of " Childe Waters.") LORD John stood in his stable door,

Said he was boun' to ride :
Burd Helen stood in her bouir door,

Said she'd run by his side.
“The corn is turning ripe, Lord John;

The nuts are growing fu' :
An' ye are boun' for your ain countrie;

Fain wad I go with you."
“Wi' me, Helen! wi' me, Helen!

What wad ye do wi' me ?
I've mair need o' a little foot-page,

Than of the like o' thee.”

“Seest thou yon water, Helen,” said he,

“That flows from bank to brim ?”. “I trust to God, Lord John,” she said,

“You ne'er will see me swim !”

But he was ne'er sae lack a knicht,

As ance wad bid her ride ; Nor did he sae much as reach his hand,

To help her ower the tide.

0, I will be your little foot-boy,

To wait upon your steed; And I will be your little foot-page,

Your leish of hounds to lead."

The firsten step that she wade in,

She wadit to the knee ; “Ochone, alas," quo' that ladye fair,

“ This water's no for me!”

“But my hounds will eat the breid o' wheat,

And ye the dust and bran; Then will ye sit and sigh, Helen,

That e'er ye lo'ed a man.” O, your dogs may eat the gude wheat-breid,

And I the dust and bran;
Yet will I sing and say, weel's me,

That e'er I lo'ed a man!"

The second step that she wade in,

She steppit to the middle :
Then, sighing, said that fair ladye,

“I've wet my gowden girdle." The thirden step that she wade in,

She steppit to the neck ;
When that the bairn that she was wi',

For cauld began to quake. “Lie still, my babe ; lie still, my babe ;

Lie still as lang's ye may : Your father, that rides on horseback high,

Cares little for us twae."

"O, better ye'd stay at hame, Helen,

And sew your silver seam ;
For my house is in the far Hielands,

And ye 'll ha'e puir welcome hame." “I winna stay, Lord John," she said,

“To sew my silver seam ; Though your house is in the far Hielands,

And I'll ha'e puir welcome hame." " Then if you 'll be my foot-page, Helen,

As you tell unto me,
Then you must cut your gown of green

An inch abune your knee.

And when she cam to the other side,

She sat down on a stane ; Says, “ Them that made me, help me now;

For I am far frae hame!

"O, tell me this, now, good Lord John ;

In pity tell to me; How far is it to your lodging, . Where we this nicht maun be?"

“So you must cut your yellow locks

An inch abune your e'e; You must tell no man what is my name :

My foot-page then you 'll be."

“0, dinna ye see yon castle, Helen,

Stands on yon sunny lea ? There ye’se get ane o' my mother's men :

Ye'se get nae mair o' me."

Then he has luppen on his white steed,

And straight awa' did ride ;
Bund Helen, dressed in men's array,
She ran fast by his side.

• Leapt.

“O, weel see I your bonnie castell.

Stands on yon sunny lea ; But I'se hae nane o' your mother's men, Though I never get mair o' thee."

• Little

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