Now I look back, and meadow, manse, and stream
Dimly my thought defines;

I only see a dream within a dream-
The hill-top hearsed with pines.

I only hear above his place of rest
Their tender undertone,

The infinite longings of a troubled breast,
The voice so like his own.

There in seclusion and remote from men
The wizard hand lies cold,

Which at its topmost speed let fall the

And left the tale half told.

pen,

Ah! who shall lift that wand of magic power,
And the lost clew regain?

The unfinished window in Aladdin's tower
Unfinished must remain !

CHRISTMAS BELLS.

I HEARD the bells on Christmas day
Their old familiar carols play,

And wild and sweet

The words repeat

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom

Had rolled along

The unbroken song

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Till, ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime,

A chant sublime

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound

The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men !

It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearthstones of a continent,
And made forlorn

The households born

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And in despair I bowed my head;
"There is no peace on earth," I said;
"For hate is strong

And mocks the song

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!"

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead; nor doth He sleep!
The Wrong shall fail,

The Right prevail,

With peace on earth, good-will to men !"

INTO the city of Kambalu,

By the road that leadeth to Ispahan,
At the head of his dusty caravan,
Laden with treasure from realms afar,
Baldacca and Kelat and Kandahar,
Rode the great captain Aläu.

The Khan from his palace-window gazed,
And saw in the thronging street beneath,
In the light of the setting sun that blazed
Through the clouds of dust by the caravan raised,
The flash of harness and jewelled sheath,

And the shining scimitars of the guard,

And the weary camels that bared their teeth,

As they passed and passed through the gates unbarred Into the shade of the palace-yard.

Thus into the city of Kambalu

Rode the great captain Aläu;

And he stood before the Khan, and said:

"The enemies of my lord are dead;

All the Kalifs of all the West

Bow and obey thy least behest;

The plains are dark with the mulberry-trees,

The weavers are busy in Samarcand,

The miners are sifting the golden sand,

The divers plunging for pearls in the seas,

And peace and plenty are in the land.

"Baldacca's Kalif, and he alone, Rose in revolt against thy throne:

His treasures are at thy palace-door,

With the swords and the shawls and the jewels he wore; His body is dust o'er the desert blown.

"A mile outside of Baldacca's gate

I left my forces to lie in wait,

Concealed by forests and hillocks of sand,
And forward dashed with a handful of men
To lure the old tiger from his den

Into the ambush I had planned.

Ere we reached the town the alarm was spread,
For we heard the sound of gongs from within;
And with clash of cymbals and warlike din
The gates swung wide; and we turned and fled,
And the garrison sallied forth and pursued,
With the grey old Kalif at their head,

And above them the banner of Mohammed :

So we snared them all, and the town was subdued,

66

"As in at the gate we rode, behold,

A tower that was called the Tower of Gold !

For there the Kalif had hidden his wealth,
Heaped and hoarded and piled on high,
Like sacks of wheat in a granary;

And thither the miser crept by stealth

To feel of the gold that gave him health,

And to gaze and gloat with his hungry eye

On jewels that gleamed like a glow-worm's spark,

Or the eyes of a panther in the dark.

"I said to the Kalif:

Thou art old,

Thou hast no need of so much gold.

Thou shouldst not have heaped and hidden it here, Till the breath of battle was hot and near,

But have sown through the land these useless hoards

To spring into shining blades of swords,

And keep thine honour sweet and clear.

These grains of gold are not grains of wheat;

These bars of silver thou canst not eat;

These jewels and pearls and precious stones
Cannot cure the aches in thy bones,
Nor keep the feet of Death one hour

From climbing the stairways of thy tower!'

"Then into his dungeon I locked the drone,
And left him to feed there all alone

In the honey-cells of his golden hive:
Never a prayer nor a cry nor a groan

Was heard from those massive walls of stone,
Nor again was the Kalif seen alive!

"When at last we unlocked the door,
We found him dead upon the floor;

The rings had dropped from his withered hands,
His teeth were like bones in the desert sands;

Still clutching his treasure he had died;
And as he lay there, he appeared
A statue of gold with a silver beard,
His arms outstretched as if crucified."

This is the story, strange and true,
That the great captain Aläu
Told to his brother the Tartar Khan,
When he rode that day into Kambalu
By the road that leadeth to Ispahan.

THE WIND OVER THE CHIMNEY.

SEE, the fire is sinking low,
Dusky red the embers glow,

While above them still I cower,
While a moment more I linger,
Though the clock, with lifted finger,
Points beyond the midnight hour.

Sings the blackened log a tune
Learned in some forgotten June
From a schoolboy at his play,
When they both were young together,
Heart of youth and summer weather
Making all their holiday.

And the night-wind rising, hark!
How above there in the dark,
In the midnight and the snow,
Ever wilder, fiercer, grander,
Like the trumpets of Iskander,
All the noisy chimneys blow!
Every quivering tongue of flame
Seems to murmur some great name,
Seems to say to me, Aspire!"
But the night-wind answers,
Are the visions that you follow,
Into darkness sinks your fire !"

"Hollow

Then the flicker of the blaze
Gleams on volumes of old days,
Written by masters of the art,

Loud through whose majestic pages

Rolls the melody of ages,

Throb the harp-strings of the heart.

And again the tongues of flame

Start exulting and exclaim:

"These are prophets, bards, and seers;

In the horoscope of nations,
Like ascendant constellations,
They control the coming years."

But the night-wind cries: "Despair!
Those who walk with feet of air
Leave no long-enduring marks;
At God's forges incandescent
Mighty hammers beat incessant,
These are but the flying sparks.

"Dust are all the hands that wrought;
Books are sepulchres of thought;

The dead laurels of the dead
Rustle for a moment only,

Like the withered leaves in lonely
Churchyards at some passing tread."

Suddenly the flame sinks down;
Sink the rumours of renown;

And alone the night-wind drear
Clamours louder, wilder, vaguer,—
""Tis the brand of Meleager

Dying on the hearth-stone here!"

O CURFEW of the setting sun! O Bells of Lynn!
O requiem of the dying day! O Bells of Lynn!

From the dark belfries of yon cloud-cathedral wafted,
Your sounds aerial seem to float, O Bells of Lynn !

Borne on the evening wind across the crimson twilight, O'er land and sea they rise and fall, O Bells of Lynn ! The fisherman in his boat, far out beyond the headland, Listens, and leisurely rows ashore, O Bells of Lynn !

Over the shining sands the wandering cattle homeward Follow each other at your call, O Bells of Lynn !