Bare without leaf or bough, erect and smooth,

Their tresses nodding like a crested helm, The plumage of the grove.

Will ye believe The wonders of the ocean? how its shoals

took wing,

And rose like dust before the whirlwind's force.

But we sail'd onward over tranquil seas,
Wafted by airs so exquisitely mild,
That even to breathe became an act of
will,

And sense, and pleasure. Not a cloud by day

With purple islanded the dark-blue deep: By night the quiet billows heaved and glanced

Under the moon, that heavenly moon! so bright,

That many a midnight have I paced the deck,

Forgetful of the hours of due repose;
Yea, til' the sun in his full majesty
Went forth, like God beholding his own
works.

No mist obscures, nor cloud, nor speck, nor stain,

Breaks the serene of heaven: In full orbed glory yonder moon divine

Rolls through the dark blue depths:
Beneath her steady ray

The desert-circle spreads,

The earliest sunbeams haste to wing their way,

With rainbow wreaths the holy stream adorning :

And duly the adoring moon at night

Sheds her white glory there,

And in the watery air

Suspends her halo-crowns of silver light.

AN EASTERN EVENING.

THE SOURCE OF THE GANGES.
The Curse of Kehama.

NONE hath seen its secret fountain;
But on the top of Merû mountain,
Which rises o'er the hills of earth,

In light and clouds, it hath its mortal birth.

Earth seems that pinnacle to rear
Sublime above this worldly sphere,
Its cradle, and its altar, and its throne;
And there the new-born river lies
Outspread beneath its native skies,
As if it there would love to dwell
Alone and unapproachable.
Soon flowing forward, and resigned
To the will of the Creating Mind,
It springs at once, with sudden leap,
Down from the immeasurable steep;
From rock to rock, with shivering force
rebounding,

The mighty cataract rushes: heaven

around,

Like thunder, with the incessant roar resounding,

And Meru's summit shaking with the sound. Wide spreads the snowy foam, the sparkling spray

Dances aloft; and ever there at morning

With the deeds of days of yore That ample roof was sculptured o'er, And many a godlike form there met his

eye,

And many an emblem dark of mystery. Through these wide portals oft had Baly

rode

Triumphant from his proud abode,
When, in his greatness, he bestrode
The Aullay, hugest of four-footed
kind,

The Aullay-horse, that in his force, With elephantine trunk, could bind And lift the elephant, and on the wind Whirl him away, with sway and swing, Even like a pebble from the practised sling.

Those streets which never, since the days of yore,

By human footstep had been visited;
Those streets which never more
A human foot shall tread,
Ladurlad trod. In sun-light, and sea-
green,

The thousand palaces were seen Of that proud city whose superb abodes

Seemed reared by giants for the im mortal gods.

How silent and how beautiful they stand,

Like things of Nature! the eternal rocks

Themselves not firmer. Neither hath the sand

Drifted within their gates, and choaked their doors,

Nor slime defiled their pavements and their floors.

Did then the ocean wage
His war for love and envy, not in

Weening to hear the sound

Of Mermaid's shell, and song Of choral throng from some imperial

hall,

Wherein the immortal powers,

festival,

Their high carousals keep.

at

But all is silence dread, Silence profound and dead, The everlasting stillness of the deep.

Through many a solitary street, And silent market-place, and lonely

A place of Paradise, where each device

spare,

There had he, with his own creation, Sought to repair his work of devasta

tion.

And plants of fibres fine, as silkworm's thread;

[hair Yea, beautiful as Mermaid's golden Upon the waves dispread : Others that, like the broad bannana Raised their long wrinkled leaves of growing, purple hue,

Like streamers wide out-flowing.
And whatsoe'er the depths of Ocean
[espied.
From human eyes, Ladurlad there

hide

vie ;

And nature, on her part, Called forth new powers wherewith to

vanquish art.

and flowers,

As fair as ours.

Wherewith the Sea-nymphs love their locks to braid,

When to their father's hall, at festival

Repairing, they, in emulous array,

Their charms display,

To grace the banquet, and the solemn day.

THALABA'S HOME IN THE DESERT.

Thalaba.

Or comes the father of the rains
From his caves in the uttermost west,
Comes he in darkness and storms?
When the blast is loud,
When the waters fill
The traveller's tread in the sands,

When the pouring shower
Streams adown the roof,

When the door-curtain hangs in heavier folds,

When the outstrained tent flags loosely, Within there is the embers' cheerful glow, The sound of the familiar voice,

The song that lightens toil,Domestic peace and comfort are within. Under the common shelter, on dry sand, The quiet camels ruminate their food;

From Moath falls the lengthening cord, As patiently the old man Entwines the strong palm-fibres; by the hearth

The damsel shakes the coffee-grains, That with warm fragrance fill the tent; And while, with dexterous fingers, Thalaba

Shapes the green basket, haply at his feet

Her favourite kidling gnaws the twig, Forgi en plunderer, for Öneiza's sake!

Or when the winter torrent rolls Down the deep-channelled rain-course, foamingly,

Dark with its mountain spoils,
With bare feet pressing the wet sand,
There wanders Thalaba,

The rushing flow, the flowing roar,
Filling his yielded faculties;
A vague, a dizzy, a tumultuous joy.
Or lingers it a vernal brook

Gleaming o'er yellow sands?
Beneath the lofty bank reclined,
With idle eye he views its little waves,
Quietly listening to the quiet flow;
While, in the breathings of the stirring
gale,

The tall canes bend above.

Floating like streamers on the wind
Their lank uplifted leaves.

Nor rich, nor poor, was Moath; God had
given
[tent.
Enough, and blest him with a mind con-
No hoarded gold disquieted his dreams;
But ever round his station he beheld
Camels that knew his voice,
And home-birds, grouping at Oneiza's
call,

And goats that, morn and eve, Came with full udders to the damsel's

hand.

Dear child! the tent beneath whose shade they dwelt

It was her work; and she had twined
His girdle's many hues;

And he had seen his robe
Grow in Oneiza's loom.

How often, with a memory-mingled joy
Which made her mother live before his

sight,

He watched her nimble fingers thread the woof! [toiled, Or at the hand-mill, when she knelt and

Toast the thin cake on spreading palm, Or fixed it on the glowing oven's side With bare wet arm, and safe dexterity.

'Tis the cool evening hour: The tamarind from the dew Sheathes its young fruit, yet green. Before their tent the mat is spread, The old man's awful voice Intone the holy book.