ABOU BEN ADHEM (may his tribe increase !)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw within the moonlight of his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An angel writing in a book of gold :-
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the presence in the room he said,
"What writest thou?" The vision raised its head,
And with a look made of all sweet accord,
Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord!"
"And is mine one?" said Abou. "" 'Nay, not so,"
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerly still; and said, "I pray thee, then,
Write me as one who loves his fellow men!"
The angel wrote and vanished. The next night
It came again, with a great wakening light,
And showed the names whom love of God had bless'd, And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.
ADIEU! adieu! my native shore
Fades o'er the waters blue,
The night winds sigh, the breakers roar,
And shrieks the wild sea-mew.
Yon sun that sets upon the sea,
We follow in his flight:
Farewell awhile to him and thee,
My native land, good night.
With thee, my bark, I'll swiftly go
Athwart the foaming brine,
Nor care what land thou bear'st me to,
So not again to mine.
Welcome, welcome, ye dark blue waves!
And when ye fail my sight,
Welcome, ye deserts and ye caves!
My native land, good night.
SPEAK gently; it is better far
To rule by love than fear;
Speak gently; let not harsh words mar
The good we might do here.
Speak gently; love doth whisper low,
The vow that true hearts bind;
And gently friendship's accents flow,-
Affection's voice is kind.
Speak gently to the little child,
Its love be sure to gain;
Teach it in accents soft and mild,
It may not long remain.
Speak gently to the aged one,
Grieve not the care-worn heart;
The sands of life are nearly run—
Let such in peace depart.
Speak gently to the young, for they
Will have enough to bear;
INSCRIBED TO THE MEMORY OF SHELLEY.
Shelley, take this to thy dear memory:—
To praise the generous is to think of thee.
JAFFAR the Barmecide, the good vizier,
The poor man's hope, the friend without a peer,
Jaffar was dead! slain by a doom unjust;
And guilty Haroun, sullen with mistrust
Of what the good and e'en the bad might say,
Ordained that no man living from that day
Should dare to speak his name on pain of death.—
All Araby and Persia held their breath.
All but the brave Mondeer. He, proud to show
How far for love a grateful soul could go,
And facing death for very scorn and grief,
(For his great heart wanted a great relief,)
Stood forth in Bagdad, daily, in the square
Where once had stood a happy house; and there
Harangued the tremblers at the scymitar,
On all they owed to the divine Jaffar.
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