Yet 'tis sweet balm to our despair.

Fond, fairest boy,

That heaven is God's, and thou art there,

With him in joy:

There past are death and all its woes.

There beauty's stream forever flows,

And pleasure's day no sunset knows,

Casa Wappy!

Farewell, then-for a while, farewell

Pride of my heart!

It cannot be that long we dwell.

Thus torn apart:

Time's shadows like the shuttle flee:
And, dark howe'er life's night may be,
Beyond the grave I'll meet with thee,

Casa Wappy!

That of thy slaves, this Ethiop slave
Is best beloved by thee?

"For he is ugly as the Night;
But when has ever chose
A nightingale, for its delight,
A hueless, scentless rose?"

The Caliph, then :-"No features fair,
Nor comely mien, are his;

Love is the beauty he doth wear,

And Love his glory is.

When once a camel of my train

There fell in narrow street,

From broken casket roll'd amain
Rieh pearls before my feet.

"I winking to the slaves that I
Would freely give them these,
At once upon the spoil they fly,
The costly boon to seize.

"One only at my side remainedBeside this Ethiop none:

He, moveless as the steed he reined, Behind me sat alone.

"What will thy gain, good fellow, be, Thus lingering at my side?' 'My king, that I shall faithfully Have guarded thee,' he cried.

"True servant's title he may wear He only who has not,

For his Lord's gifts, how rich soe'er, His Lord himself forgot."

So thou alone dost walk before
Thy God with perfect aim,
From Him desiring nothing more
Beside Himself to claim.

For if thou not to Him aspire,

But to His gifts alone,

Not Love, but covetous desire,

Has brought thee to His throne.

While such thy prayer, it climbs above In vain the golden key

Of God's rich treasure-house of love, Thine own will never be

EMERSON.

THE HUMBLE-BEE.

BURLY, dozing, humble-bee,
Where thou art is clime for me.
Let them sail for Porto Rique,
Far-off heats through seas to seek;
I will follow thee alone,
Thou animated torrid zone!
Zigzag steerer, desert cheerer,
Let me chase thy waving lines;
Keep me nearer, me thy hearer,
Singing over shrubs and vines.

Insect lover of the sun,

Joy of thy dominion!

Sailor of the atmosphere;

Swimmer through the waves of air;

Voyager of light and noon;

Epicurean of June;

Wait, I prithee, till I come

Within earshot of thy hum,

All without is martyrdom.

When the south wind, in May days,

With a net of shining haze

Silvers the horizon wall,

And, with softness touching all,

Tints the human countenance

With a colour of romance,

And, infusing subtle heats,

Turns the sod to violets,

Thou, in sunny solitudes,

Rover of the underwoods,

The green silence dost displace
With thy mellow, breezy bass.

Hot midsummer's petted crone,
Sweet to me thy drowsy tone
Tells of countless sunny hours,
Long days, and solid banks of flowers;
Of gulfs of sweetness without bound
In Indian wildernesses found;

Of Syrian peace, immortal leisure,
Firmest cheer, and bird-like pleasure.

Aught unsavoury or unclean

Hath my insect never seen;

But violets and bilberry bells,

Maple-sap, and daffodels,

Grass with green flag half-mast high,

Succory to match the sky,
Columbine with horn of honey,
Scented fern and agrimony,
Clover, catch-fly, adder's-tongue,
And brier roses, dwelt among;
All beside was unknown waste,
All was picture as he passed.

Wiser far than human seer,
Yellow-breeched philosopher!
Seeing only what is fair,
Sipping only what is sweet,

Thou dost mock at fate and care,
Leave the chaff, and take the wheat.
When the fierce north-western blast
Cools sea and land so far and fast,
Thou already slumberest deep;
Woe and want thou canst outsleep;
Want and woe, which torture us,
Thy sleep makes ridiculous.