girl, was about to engage, delivering up herself to a man of a different nation, and an infidel to her faith ;-but love, allpowerful love, was there, ready to account for every difficul+ ty, and never did that passion rage in a more powerful manner than in the heart of the Tartar maiden. She came-they met-they repeated their vows he placed her behind him, and straightway they shaped their course for the high road leading to the sacred city. His success was without a check; and he entered the gate of Meshed, with an exclamation of thanksgiving. In accordance with the wishes of his lovely bride, he sent back the horse by a trusty messenger, bearing letters and presents, which they imagined would mitigate the pain caused by Roshunek's flight. What took place among the Tartars upon finding their prey was gone, we must leave to our reader's imagination. When they discovered, in addition, that the Chief's horse, the pride of Turkistan, the one famous beast, the winner of every prize, the hero of every chappao, was absent, a general cry of «To horse! to horse! was heard to ring throughout the camp, and every man's foot was soon in his stirrup, with orders to scour the country round even into the very heart of Persia, until the animal should once more neigh in the stables of the Khan. THE SONG OF THIRTY YEARS. BY WILLIAM A. SHAND, M. A. ᏢᎪᎡᎢ 1. Showeth how a girl was consoled for the loss of Beauty, Romance, and the general stock in trade of sweet sixteen; and how Time laughed thereat. That Time's a knave is an ancient saw, To cheat each dupe and to break each Law Of Fate he leadeth the threads along, And wieldeth the ruthless shears→ A maiden is gliding through the dance- Ho! Music-Lights-in a maze of mirth In every note hath a new charm birth, But list awhile to the alien notes- And a shadow above her gladness floats, Ho! ho! saith Time with a croaking laugh, The darkling race goes fast. «Now-now-it is thine Hope's bowl to quaff, "But Mine to drain at last. Though stately measures above thee din,' «And garlands are on the wall, "A kingly wizard-fair girl-is Time Each shining flower he sears— And peals on high like a death-bell's chime " Right well doth the ancient seer foretell- No more doth that early music swell- As the morris of twinkling fays: When Time hath blanched her cheek. No Lyrist to tune the votive reed, And of sons, each true as his own good sword Of old with a faltering voice she spoke And moralized on a blasted oak, Or a knot of Daffodils. But now she hath conned a wiser lore For at fifty Rhyme is an odious bore, Oh then-Good Lord-how her brain would teem And omens in each starlight gleam, And sighs on every breeze. By turns her dream was of nature's truths 'T is of glory» now for these stalwart youths No longer the grim old tyrant's voice.com PART II. Showeth the History of ayoung Poet, and how he foiled the knavery of Time by prematurely bidding Good-b'ye to him. With folded arms a Poet stood On a river's winding bank With a watchful ear he seemed to hear To carve their lines on his snowy brow When the voice of Dian the moonlight air A gift divine was the Poet-youth's- With the oriel hues of phantasy To gladden and glorify. The drooping bloom on the river-bank The wandering hum of the loitering bee The lark that choired in middle air At heaven's own portal hung— VOL. III. 20 That did not to his musings lone The Poet-youth! what pageants now Say dreameth he of the Baron's hall, eye- In vain the Faun with brimming gourd May chaunt the Maenad hymn And the dreamy myth o'er its censers watch On other themes doth the Poet muse The "Oh Lord of Love," he murmurs low, How bountiful thou art Through all thy world in joy outbreathes ་་ The universal heart. «As tranquil is this valley now As still these clustering trees As the thin smoke that climbeth up From yonder villages, « Above-around-the soul directs Its visionary flight The very air sighs like a prayer "Of sainted Eremite. "How calm! the little shepherd-girl ་ That sitteth by the brook By turns to pluck the water-cress "A very Image is of Rest "An Emblem sanctified "As though good Angels, as of old, "Were watching by her side. Enough to fill the yearning heart With Thanks-giving is here, "When with so deep a benison High heaven to earth draws near.» "Ho! Ho!" quoth Time 't'is wondrous well "Sir Poet! but years steal past; And the colours that flush thy heart to-day Shall wither and drop at last. |