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 Look from thy window and see My passion and my pain; I lie on the sands below, Let the night-winds touch thy brow Of a love that shall not die Till the sun grows cold, And the leaves of the Judgment My steps are nightly driven, And open thy chamber door, And the stars are old, And the leaves of the Judgment 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 Our tribe is many, our poets vie Yet none can sing of the Palm but I. The marble minarets that begem Are not so light as his slender stem. He lifts his leaves in the sunbeam's glance A slumberous motion, a passionate sign, Full of passion and sorrow is he, And when the warm south-winds arise, Quickening odours, kisses of balm, The sun may flame and the sands may stir, O Tree of Love, by that love of thine, Give me the secret of the sun, If I were a King, O stately Tree, In the court of my palace I'd build for thee! With a shaft of silver, burnished bright, With spikes of golden bloom a-blaze, And there the poets, in thy praise, New measures sung to tunes divine; KUBLEH ; A STORY OF THE ASSYRIAN DESERT. THE HE black-eyed children of the Desert drove The tents were pitched; the weary camels bent |