girl, was about to engage, delivering up herself to a man of a different nation, and an infidel to her faith ;-but love, allpowerful love, was there, ready to account for every difficul+ ty, and never did that passion rage in a more powerful manner than in the heart of the Tartar maiden. She came-they met-they repeated their vows he placed her behind him, and straightway they shaped their course for the high road leading to the sacred city. His success was without a check; and he entered the gate of Meshed, with an exclamation of thanksgiving. In accordance with the wishes of his lovely bride, he sent back the horse by a trusty messenger, bearing letters and presents, which they imagined would mitigate the pain caused by Roshunek's flight.

What took place among the Tartars upon finding their prey was gone, we must leave to our reader's imagination. When they discovered, in addition, that the Chief's horse, the pride of Turkistan, the one famous beast, the winner of every prize, the hero of every chappao, was absent, a general cry of «To horse! to horse! was heard to ring throughout the camp, and every man's foot was soon in his stirrup, with orders to scour the country round even into the very heart of Persia, until the animal should once more neigh in the stables of the Khan.

THE SONG OF THIRTY YEARS.

BY WILLIAM A. SHAND, M. A.

ᏢᎪᎡᎢ 1.

Showeth how a girl was consoled for the loss of Beauty, Romance, and the general stock in trade of sweet sixteen; and how Time laughed thereat.

That Time's a knave is an ancient saw,
But true as a prophet's spell-

To cheat each dupe and to break each Law
The old rogue loveth well:

Of Fate he leadeth the threads along,

And wieldeth the ruthless shears→
And chaunteth the while a dirge-like song
Whose burthen is Thirty years.»

A maiden is gliding through the dance-
With roses her brow is bound-
Oh! joy ne'er shone in a brighter glance,
Or moved in a gayer round-

Ho! Music-Lights-in a maze of mirth
The fleet hours speed away-

In every note hath a new charm birth,
To turn the night to day.

But list awhile to the alien notes-
That dark eye swims in tears,

And a shadow above her gladness floats,
A vision of «Thirty years."

Ho! ho! saith Time with a croaking laugh,

The darkling race goes fast.

«Now-now-it is thine Hope's bowl to quaff,

"But Mine to drain at last.

Though stately measures above thee din,'

«And garlands are on the wall,

"A kingly wizard-fair girl-is Time

Each shining flower he sears—

And peals on high like a death-bell's chime
His chorus of Thirty years.»

"

Right well doth the ancient seer foretell-
The thirty years are fled-

No more doth that early music swell-
These glorious wreaths are dead.
That dreamy form as glad of
glad of yore

As the morris of twinkling fays:
We ask in vain on the festal floor,
In the dancers' circling maze.
She cometh still-but no eye is bent
Her faded bloom to seek-
The wand of the prophetess is rent-

When Time hath blanched her cheek.
She stands alone like an ancient créed
Beside its fallen shrine-

No Lyrist to tune the votive reed,
No Priest to pour the wine--
Away with an idle dream, like this-
Hold!« Murder will-be out, »
No mourner is she o'er vanished bliss.
But a matron plump and stout.
That bluff old soldier is her, Lord-
These are her daughters four-

And of sons, each true as his own good sword
She hath full half-a-score.

Of old with a faltering voice she spoke
Of sentiment and rills,

And moralized on a blasted oak,

Or a knot of Daffodils.

But now she hath conned a wiser lore
And learnt a newer passion-

For at fifty Rhyme is an odious bore,
And flowers are out of fashion :

Oh then-Good Lord-how her brain would teem
With nightingales and trees,

And omens in each starlight gleam,

And sighs on every breeze.

By turns her dream was of nature's truths
And music on the waters-

'T is of glory» now for these stalwart youths
And of rent-rolls for her daughters.

No longer the grim old tyrant's voice.com
With a shuddering start she hears,
But wisely avers that for «Her and Hers »
«T'is well after Thirty years.

PART II.

Showeth the History of ayoung Poet, and how he foiled the knavery of Time by prematurely bidding Good-b'ye to him.

With folded arms a Poet stood

On a river's winding bank

With a watchful ear he seemed to hear
The boughs as they rose and sank.
Scarce twenty summers upon his head
Their shadowy hand had laid,

To carve their lines on his snowy brow
Or darken his dreams with shade.
And songs-oh glorious songs were his-
Such as Endymion heard-

When the voice of Dian the moonlight air
O'er slumbering Latmos stirred-

A gift divine was the Poet-youth's-
Green tree and flower and sky

With the oriel hues of phantasy

To gladden and glorify.

The drooping bloom on the river-bank
To him was a wood-nymph's cell-

The wandering hum of the loitering bee
A fairy's silver bell-

The lark that choired in middle air

At heaven's own portal hung—
The stilly tone of the woodland fount
From a Naiad's reed was flung;
And not an autumn leaf could fade,
Or a minster-spire ascend,

VOL. III.

20

That did not to his musings lone
A holy meaning lend.

The Poet-youth! what pageants now
Before his fancy shine?

Say dreameth he of the Baron's hall,
And the banquet's purple wine?
Or come the visions of elder days
Once more before his

eye-
With shimmering shrines in forest-nooks
And pale girls watching by?

In vain the Faun with brimming gourd

May chaunt the Maenad hymn

And the dreamy myth o'er its censers watch
In the temple's twilight dim-

On other themes doth the Poet muse
Than Faun or Antique Fane-
earth in this hour of peace
green
Awakes a nobler strain.

The

"Oh Lord of Love," he murmurs low,

How bountiful thou art

Through all thy world in joy outbreathes

་་

The universal heart.

«As tranquil is this valley now

As still these clustering trees As the thin smoke that climbeth up From yonder villages,

« Above-around-the soul directs Its visionary flight

The very air sighs like a prayer "Of sainted Eremite.

"How calm! the little shepherd-girl

་

That sitteth by the brook

By turns to pluck the water-cress
And con her sacred book,»

"A very Image is of Rest

"An Emblem sanctified

"As though good Angels, as of old, "Were watching by her side.

Enough to fill the yearning heart

With Thanks-giving is here,

"When with so deep a benison

High heaven to earth draws near.»

"Ho! Ho!" quoth Time 't'is wondrous well "Sir Poet! but years steal past;

And the colours that flush thy heart to-day

Shall wither and drop at last.