XII.

The modest lashes of her eyes upon her cheeks were droop

ing,

Her merciless white fingers tore a blushing bud apart;

. Then, quick as lightning, KATHIE came, and kneeling half and stooping,

She hid her bonny, bonny face against my beating heart.

XIII.

Oh, nestle, nestle, nestle there! the heart would give thee greeting;

Lie thou there, all trustfully, in trouble and in pain;

This breast shall shield thee from the storm, and bear its bitter beating

These arms shall hold thee tenderly in sunshine and in rain !

XIV.

Old sexton! set your chimes in tune, and let there be no snarling;

Ring out a joyous wedding-hymn to all the listening air! And, girls, strew roses as she comes, the scornful, browneyed darling

A princess, by the wavy gold and glistening of her hair!

XV.

Hark! hear the bells. The Christmas bells? Oh, no; who set them ringing?

I think I hear our bridal-bells, and I with joy am blind; I smell the clover in the fields, I hear the robins singing,

And the petals of the apple-blooms are ruffled in the

wind!

XVI.

Ah! KATHIE, you've been true to me in fair and cloudy weather;

Our Father has been good to us when we've been sorely

tried:

I pray to Him, when we must die, that we may die to

gether,

And slumber softly underneath the clover, side by side.

FROM the Desert I come to thee

On a stallion shod with fire;

And the winds are left behind

In the speed of my desire!

Under thy window I stand,

And the midnight hears my cry:

I love thee, I love but thee,

With a love that shall not die

Till the sun grows cold

And the stars are old,

And the leaves of the Judgment
Book unfold!

Look from thy window and see

My passion and my pain;

I lie on the sands below,
And I faint in thy disdain.

Let the night-winds touch thy brow
With the heat of my burning sigh,
And melt thee to hear the vow

Of a love that shall not die

Till the sun grows cold,
And the stars are old,

And the leaves of the Judgment
Book unfold!

My steps are nightly driven,
By the fever in my breast,
To hear from thy lattice breathed
The word that shall give me rest.
Open the door of thy heart,

And open thy chamber door,
And my kisses shall teach thy lips
The love that shall fade no more
Till the sun grows cold,

And the stars are old,

And the leaves of the Judgment
Book unfold!

THE ARAB TO THE PALM.

TEXT to thee, O fair gazelle,

ΝΕ

O Beddowee girl, beloved so well;

Next to the fearless Nedjidee,

Whose fleetness shall bear me again to thee;

Next to ye both I love the Palm,

With his leaves of beauty, his fruit of balm;

Next to ye both I love the Tree
Whose fluttering shadow wraps us three
With love, and silence, and mystery!

Our tribe is many, our poets vie
With any under the Arab sky;

Yet none can sing of the Palm but I.

The marble minarets that begem
Cairo's citadel-diadem

Are not so light as his slender stem.

He lifts his leaves in the sunbeam's glance
As the Almehs lift their arms in dance—

A slumberous motion, a passionate sign,
That works in the cells of the blood like wine.

Full of passion and sorrow is he,
Dreaming where the beloved may be.

And when the warm south-winds arise,
He breathes his longing in fervid sighs—

Quickening odours, kisses of balm,
That drop in the lap of his chosen Palm.

The sun may flame and the sands may stir,
But the breath of his passion reaches her.

O Tree of Love, by that love of thine,
Teach me how I shall soften mine!

Give me the secret of the sun,
Whereby the wooed is ever won!

If I were a King, O stately Tree,
A likeness, glorious as might be,

In the court of my palace I'd build for thee!

With a shaft of silver, burnished bright,
And leaves of beryl and malachite :

With spikes of golden bloom a-blaze,
And fruits of topaz and chrysoprase :

And there the poets, in thy praise,
Should night and morning frame new lays-

New measures sung to tunes divine;
But none, O Palm, should equal mine'

KUBLEH ;

A STORY OF THE ASSYRIAN DESERT.

THE

HE black-eyed children of the Desert drove
Their flocks together at the set of sun.

The tents were pitched; the weary camels bent
Their suppliant necks, and knelt upon the sand;
The hunters quartered by the kindled fires;
The wild boars of the Tigris they had slain,
And all the stir and sound of evening ran
Throughout the Shammar camp. The dewy air
Bore its full burden of confused delight
Across the flowery plain; and while afar,
The snows of Koordish mountains in the ray
Flashed roseate amber, Nimroud's ancient mound
Rose broad and black against the burning West.
The shadows deepened and the stars came out,
Sparkling in violet ether; one by one
Glimmered the ruddy camp-fires on the plain,
And shapes of steed and horseman moved among