Day cannot make thee half so fair,
Nor the stars of eve so dear:

The arms that clasp and the breast that keeps,
They tell me thou art near,
And the perfect beauty of thy face

In thy murmured words I hear.

The lights of land have dropped below
The vast and glimmering sea;

The world we leave is a tale that is told, -
A fable, that cannot be.

There is no life in the sphery dark
But the love in thee and me!

TYRE.

I.

HE wild and windy morning is lit with lurid fire;

The thundering surf of ocean beats on

And calls with hungry clamor, that speaks its long desire:

"Where are the ships of Tarshish, the mighty ships of Tyre?"

II.

Within her cunning harbor, choked with invading

sand.

No galleys bring their freightage, the spoils of every land,

And like a prostrate forest, when autumn gales have blown,

Her colonnades of granite lie shattered and o'erthrown;

And from the reef the pharos no longer flings its

fire,

To beacon home from Tarshish the lordly ships

of Tyre.

III.

Where is thy rod of empire, once mighty on the

waves,

-

Thou that thyself exalted, till Kings became thy

slaves?

Thou that didst speak to nations, and saw thy will obeyed,

Whose favor made them joyful, whose anger sore

afraid,

Who laid'st thy deep foundations, and thought them strong and sure,

And boasted midst the waters, Shall I not aye endure ?

Where is the wealth of ages that heaped thy princely mart?

The pomp of purple trappings; the gems of Syrian art;

The silken goats of Kedar; Sabæa's spicy store; The tributes of the islands thy squadrons homeward bore,

When in thy gates triumphant they entered from the sea

With sound of horn and sackbut, of harp and psaltery?

V.

Howl, howl, ye ships of Tarshish! the glory is laid waste:

There is no habitation; the mansions are defaced. No mariners of Sidon unfurl your mighty sails; No workmen fell the fir-trees that grow in Shenir's

vales,

And Bashan's oaks that boasted a thousand years

of sun,

Or hew the masts of cedar on frosty Lebanon.

VI.

Rise, thou forgotten harlot! take up thy harp and

sing:

Call the rebellious islands to own their ancient

king:

Bare to the spray thy bosom, and with thy hair unbound,

Sit on the piles of ruin, thou throneless and discrowned!

There mix thy voice of wailing with the thunders of the sea,

And sing thy songs of sorrow, that thou remembered be!

VII.

Though silent and forgotten, yet Nature still laments

The pomp and power departed, the lost magnifi

cence:

The hills were proud to see thee, and they are sadder now;

The sea was proud to bear thee, and wears a troubled brow,

And evermore the surges chant forth their vain desire :

"Where are the ships of Tarshish, the mighty ships of Tyre?”

AN ANSWER.

JOU call me cold: you wonder why
The marble of a mien like mine

Gives fiery sparks of Poesy,

Or softens at Love's touch divine.

Go, look on Nature, you will find
It is the rock that feels the sun :
- and to the blind

But you are blind,

The touch of ice and fire is one.

GULISTAN.

AN ARABIC METRE.

HERE is Gulistan, the Land of Roses? Not on hills where Northern winters Break their spears in icy splinters, And in shrouded snow the world reposes; But amid the glow and splendor Which the Orient summers lend her, Blue the heaven above her beauty closes: There is Gulistan, the Land of Roses.

Northward stand the Persian mountains; Southward spring the silver fountains Which to Hafiz taught his sweetest measures, Clearly ringing to the singing

Which the nightingales delight in,
When the Spring, from Oman winging
Unto Shiraz, showers her fragrant treasures
On the land, till valleys brighten,
Mountains lighten with returning
Fires of scarlet poppy burning,
And the stream meanders
Through its roseate oleanders,
And Love's golden gate, unfolden,

Opens on a universe of pleasures.

There the sunshine blazes over

Meadows gemmed with ruby clover;
There the rose's heart uncloses,

Prodigal with hoarded stores of sweetness,