No one would think the story on his mind
Rested a single moment. But due time

Brought round his glad return, and he once more
Entered his hall, within which, on each side,
Long marble stairs curved towards the balcony,
Where right and left the women's chambers spread;
Upon the landing stood the glad Hareem

To welcome him with music, shouts, and songs;
Yet he would not ascend a single step,

But cried-'Where is the careless Nubian girl
That let my child fall on the stony ground?'
Trembling and shrieking down one marble flight
She was pushed forward, till she reached the floor:
Then Ibrahim caught her in one giant grasp,
Dragged her towards him, and one brawny hand
Tight-twisting in her long and glossy hair,
And with the other drawing the sharp sword
Well known at Nezib and at Koniah,

Sheer from her shoulders severed the young head,
And casting it behind him, at few bounds
Cleared the high stair and to his bosom pressed
The darling wife his deed had just reveng'd.
O! he is god-like in his hour of rage!
His wrath is like the plague that falls on man
With indiscriminate fury, and for this
His name is honoured through the spacious East,
Where all things powerful meet their just reward.”

The Soldier paused; and surely some one else Had taken up the burden of a tale;

But at that moment through the cypress stems

Shot the declining crimson of the sun

Full on the faces of that company,

Who for some instants in deep silence watched
The last appearance of the ruddy rim,

And, little needing the clear warning voice
Which issued round the neighbouring minaret,-
Bidding all earthly thoughts and interests
Sink in their breasts as sunk that fiery sun-
Bowed, old and young, their heads in blest accord,
Believers in one Prophet and one God!

THE TENT.

WHY should a man raise stone and wood Between him and the sky?

Why should he fear the brotherhood

Of all things from on high?
Why should a man not raise his form
As shelterless and free

As stands in sunshine or in storm
The mountain and the tree?

Or if we thus, as creatures frail
Before our time should die,
And courage and endurance fail

Weak Nature to supply ;—
Let us at least a dwelling choose,

The simplest that can keep
From parching heat and noxious dews.
Our pleasure and our sleep.

The Fathers of our mortal race,
While still remembrance nursed
Traditions of the glorious place

Whence Adam fled accursed,—

Rested in tents, as best became
Children, whose mother earth
Had overspread with sinful shame
The beauty of her birth.

In cold they sought the sheltered nook,
In heat the airy shade,

And oft their casual home forsook
The morrow it was made;
Diverging many separate roads,

They wandered, fancy-driven,
Nor thought of other fixed abodes
Than Paradise or Heaven.

And while this holy sense remained,
'Mid easy shepherd cares,

In tents they often entertained
The Angels unawares :
And to their spirits' fervid gaze

The mystery was revealed,

How the world's wound in future days

Should by God's love be healed.

Thus we, so late and far a link

Of generation's chain,

Delight to dwell in tents, and think

The old world young again;

With Faith as wide and Thought as narrow

As theirs, who little more

From life demanded than the sparrow

Gay-chirping by the door.

The Tent! how easily it stands,

Almost as if it rose

Spontaneous from the green or sand,
Express for our repose :

Or, rather, it is we who plant

This root, where'er we roam, And hold, and can to others grant,

The comforts of a home.

Make the Divan-the carpets spread,
The ready cushions pile;

Rest, weary heart! rest, weary head!
From pain and pride awhile:
And all your happiest memories woo,
And mingle with your dreams
The yellow desert glimmering through
The subtle veil of beams.

We all have much we would forget—

Be that forgotten now!

And placid Hope, instead, shall set

Her seal upon your brow: