That I ne'er to other tongue should list, or smile at other's tale, But remember he my lips had kiss'd, pure as those earrings pale. When he comes back, and hears that I have dropp'd them in the well; Oh, what will Muça think of me, I cannot, cannot tell. 'My ear-rings! my earrings! he'll say they should have been, Not of pearl and silver, but of gold and glittering sheen; Of jasper and of onyx, and of diamond shining clear, Changing to the changing light, with radiance insincere ; That changing minds unchanging gems are not befitting well; Thus will he think, and what to say, alas! I cannot tell. He'll think, when I to market went, I loiter'd by the way; He'll think a willing ear I lent to all the lads might say; He'll think some other lover's hand among my tresses noozed, And from the ear, where he had placed them, my rings of pearl unloos'd; He'll think, as I sat sporting so, beside this marble well, My pearls fell in, and what to say, alas! I cannot tell. 'He'll say I am a woman, and we are all the same; He'll say I loved, when he was here, to whisper of his flame; But when he went to Tunis, my virgin troth had broken, And thought no more of Muça, and cared not for his token. My earrings! my earrings! ah! luckless, luckless well! And what to say to Muça, alas! I cannot tell. 'I'll tell the truth to Muça, and hope he will believe That I thought of him at morning, and thought of him at eve; And that, musing on my lover, when down. the sun was gone, His earrings in my hand I held, by the fountain, all alone; And that my mind was on the sea, when from my hand they fell; And that deep my love lies in my heart, as they lie in the well.' SONG OF A SPIRIT TO THE DEPARTING CHILD. Anon. COME, fair child, I wait for thee I wait with a wreath for thy shining hair, Come to the land of the cherubim ! Come to the morning that knows no night- Few and short have thy wanderings been And since thy young spirit hath sought its And in the bright path of religion trod; The seraph of love and the angel of peace Have fixed thine abode in the gardens of bliss. They have built thee a home with a golden dcor, Then come, thou lamb of God's holy fold; And thy path shall be bright with the halo of bliss, And thy brow shall be bound with the lilies of peace. Yes, thou art coming; thy bark is past And thy bright, bright wing is in glory unfurled, Thou hast left the dark shades of a sinful world. Joy! joy! be the theme of the angel throng, EARTHLY BLISS. THE spider's most attenuated thread SATURDAY AFTERNOON. I LOVE to look on a scene like this, And persuade myself that I am not old, For it stirs the blood in an old man's heart, To catch the thrill of a happy voice, I have walked the world for fourscore years, That my heart is ripe for the reaper Death, I am told-and I 'bide my time '; Play on! play on! I am with you there, |