"Fly to the desert, fly with me
Our Arab tents are rude for thee;
But oh! the choice what heart can doub
Of tents with love, or thrones without?

"Our rocks are rough, but smiling there
Th' acacia waves her yellow hair,
Lonely and sweet, nor loved the less
For flowering in a wilderness.

"Our sands are bare, but down their slope
The silvery footed antelope
As gracefully and gaily springs
As o'er the marble courts of kings.

"Then come,-thy Arab maid will be
The loved and lone acacia tree,
The antelope, whose feet shall bless
With their light sound thy loneliness.
"O there are looks and tones that dart
An instant sunshine through the heart,
As if the soul that minute caught
Some treasure it through life had sought;

"As if the very lips and eyes Predestined to have all our sighs, And never be forgot again, Sparkled and spoke before as then! "So came thy every glance and tone, When first on me they breathed and shone; New, as if brought from other spheres, Yet welcome, as if loved for years! "Then fly with me, if thou hast known No other flame, nor falsely thrown

-Percy Bysshe Shelley.

A gem away, that thou hadst sworn
Should ever in thy heart be worn.
"Come, if the love thou hast for me
Is pure and fresh as mine for thee,-
Fresh as the fountain underground,
When first 'tis by the lapwing found.
"But if for me thou dost forsake
Some other maid, and rudely break
Her worshiped image from its base,
To give to me the ruined place,

"Then, fare thee well!-I'd rather make

My bower upon some icy lake
When thawing suns begin to shine
Than trust to love so false as thine!"
There was a pathos in this lay,

That even without enchantment's art
Would instantly have found its way
Deep into Selim's burning heart;
But breathing, as it did, a tone

To earthly lutes and lips unknown;
With every chord fresh from the touch
Of music's spirit, 'twas too much!
Starting, he dashed away the cup,-
Which, all the time of this sweet air,
His hand had held, untasted, up,

As if 'twere fixed by magic there,-
And naming her so long unnamed,
So long unseen, wildly exclaimed,
"O Nourmahal! O Nourmahal!

Hadst thou but sung this witching strain,

I could forget-forgive thee all,

And never leave those eyes again."

H

'ERE'S the garden she walked across, Arm in arm, such a short while since: Hark! now I push its wicket, the moss

Hinders the hinges, and makes them wince. She must have reached this shrub ere she turned, As back with that murmur the wicket swung ; For she laid the poor snail my chance foot spurned, To feed and forget it the leaves among.

Down this side of the gravel-walk

She went while her robe's edge brushed the box; And here she paused in her gracious talk

To point me a moth on the milk white phlox. Roses, ranged in valiant row,

I will never think that she passed you by !

She loves you, noble roses, I know;

But yonder see where the rock-plants lie! This flower she stopped at, finger on lip,Stooped over, in doubt, at settling its claim; Till she gave me, with pride to make no slip, Its soft meandering Spanish name. What a name! was it love or praise?

Speech half asleep, or song half awake?

I must learn Spanish one of these days,
Only for that slow sweet name's sake.

Roses, if I live and do well,

I may bring her one of these days, To fix you fast with as fine a spell,

"Are ye out of your mind, my nurse, my nurse?"
Said Lady Clare, "that ye speak so wild?"
"As God's above," said Alice the nurse,
I speak the truth: you are my child.

"The old earl's daughter died at my breast
I speak the truth, as I live by bread!
I buried her like my own sweet child,
And put my child in her stead. "

"Falsely, falsely have ye done,

O mother," she said, "if this be true
To keep the best man under the sun
So many years from his due."

"Nay now, my child," said Alice the nurse
"But keep the secret for your life,
And all you have will be Lord Ronald's,
When you are man and wife."

"If I'm a beggar born," she said,

"I will speak out, for I dare not lie.

Pull off pull off the brooch of gold,

And fling the diamond necklace by. " "Nay now, my child," said Alice the nur "But keep the secret all you can." She said, "Not so: but I will know If there be any faith in man "

And lay your hand upon my head,
And bless me, mother, ere I go."
She clad herself in a russet gown,

She was no longer Lady Clare:
She went by dale, and she went by down,
With a single rose in her hair.

The lily-white doe Lord Ronald had brought
Leapt up from where she lay,

Dropp'd her head in the maiden's hand,
And follow'd her all the way.

Down stepp'd Lord Ronald from his tower:

"O Lady Clare, you shame your worth! Why come you dress'd like a village maid, That are the flower of the earth!"

K

ISSING her hair, I sat against her feet: Wove and unwove it,-wound, and found it sweet;

Made fast therewith her hands, drew down her eyes, Deep as deep flowers, and dreamy like dim skies; With her own tresses bound and found her fair,—

Kissing her hair.

Sleep were no sweeter than her face to me,-
Sleep of cold sea-bloom under the cold sea:
What pain could get between my face and hers?
What new sweet thing would Love not relish worse?
Unless, perhaps. white Death had kissed me there,
Kissing her hair.

-Algernon Charles Swinburne.

ELIEVE me, if all those endearing young

BELIEVE

Which I gaze on so fondly to-day,

Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms, Like fairy gifts fading away,

[art, Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou Let thy loveliness fade as it will,

And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart
Would entwine itself verdantly still.

It is not while beauty and youth are thine own,
And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear,

That the fervor and faith of a soul can be known,
To which time will but make thee more dear ;
No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close,

As the sunflower turns on her god, when he sets, The same look which she turned when he rose. -Thomas Moore.

COME into the garden, Maudas flown!

Come into the garden, Maud,

I am here at the gate alone;

And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad. And the musk of the roses blown.

For a breeze of morning moves,

And the planet of Love is on high, Beginning to faint in the light that she loves On a bed of daffodil sky,—

To faint in the light of the sun that she loves, To faint in its light, and to die.

All night have the roses heard

The flute, violin, bassoon;

All night has the casement jessamine stirred
To the dancers dancing in tune,-
Till a silence fell with the waking bird,
And a hush with the setting moon.

I said to the lily, “There is but one
With whom she has heart to be gay.
When will the dancers leave her alone?
She is weary of dance and play."
Now half to the setting moon are gone,
And half to the rising day;

Low on the sand and loud on the stone
The last wheel echoes away.

I said to the rose, "The brief night goes In babble and revel and wine.

O young lord-lover, what sighs are those For one that will never be thine?

But mine, but mine," so I sware to the rose
"Forever and ever mine !"

And the soul of the rose went into my blood,
As the music clashed in the hall;
And long by the garden lake I stood,
For I heard your rivulet fall
From the lake to the meadow, and on to the wood,
Our wood that is dearer than all;

From the meadow your walks have left so sweet
That whenever a March wind sighs,

He sets the jewel print of your feet
In violets blue as your eyes,
To the woody hollows in which we meet,
And the valleys of Paradise.

The slender acacia would not shake
One long milk bloom on the tree;
The white lake blossom fell into the lak
As the pimpernel dozed on the lea;
But the rose was awake all night for your sake,
Knowing your promise to me;

The lilies and roses were all awake,
They sighed for the dawn and thee.
Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls,
Come hither! the dances are done;
In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls,
Queen lily and rose in one;

Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls,
To the flowers, and be their sun.

There has fallen a splendid tear
From the passion flower at the gate.