The Classic and the Beautiful from the Literature of Three Thousand Years

Should betray thee when sorrows like clouds | Light is my heart since the day we were

I'll pull you sweet flowers to wear if you choose them,

Or after you've kissed them they'll lie on my bosom;

Should they who are dearest-the son of thy I'll fetch from the mountain its breeze to

heart,

The wife of thy bosom-in sorrow depart,

Look aloft from the darkness and dust of the tomb

To that soil where affection is ever in bloom.

And oh, when Death comes in his terrors to cast

His fears on the future, his pall on the past,

inspire you;

sing you sweet songs till the stars rise above me,

In that moment of darkness, with hope in Then, wandering, I'll wish you in silence to

love me.

We'll look through the trees at the cliff and

the eyrie;

We'll tread round the rath on the track of the fairy;

COME in the evening or come in the We'll look on the stars, and we'll list to the

river,

morning, Come when you're looked for or come with- Till you ask of your darling what gift you out warning, can give her. Kisses and welcome you'll find here before Oh, she'll whisper you, "Love as unchangeably beaming,

you;

And the oftener you come here, the more I'll And trust, when in secret, most tunefully streaming,

adore you.

Till the starlight of heaven above us shall If with no lawless fire it gleamed, quiver But through the dews of kindness beamed, As our souls flow in one down eternity's That eye shall be for ever bright river."

So come in the evening or come in the morning,

When stars and sun are sunk in night.

Within this hollow cavern hung
The ready, swift and tuneful tongue;

Come when you're looked for or come with- If Falsehood's honey it disdained, out warning,

And when it could not praise was chained; Kisses and welcome you'll find here before If bold in Virtue's cause it spoke,. Yet gentle concord never broke,

you;

And the oftener you come here, the more I'll This silent tongue shall plead for thee
When time unveils eternity.

adore you.

That homage should be paid to the Most
High:

There is a temple, one not made with hands

The vaulted firmament. Far in the woods,
Almost beyond the sound of city chime,
At intervals heard through the breezeless air,
When not the limberest leaf is seen to move
Save where the linnet lights upon the spray,
Where not a floweret bends its little stalk
Save when the bee alights upon the bloom,
There, rapt in gratitude, in joy and love,
The man of God will pass the Sabbath noon;
Silence his praise, his disembodied thoughts,

THE PALACES OF ARABY.

THE palaces of Araby! How beautiful

they were,

Rearing their golden pinnacles unto the sunny air

'Mid fragrant groves of spice and balm and

waving orange trees,

And clear-toned fountains sparkling up to kiss the passing breeze!

The palaces of Araby! Oh, still there is a dream,

A vision, on my brain of all as long extinct and dim;

They rise upon my fancy yet, vast, beautiful | That dream hath fled, that pageant passed :
Unreal things and vain,

and grand,

As in past centuries they stood through all Why rise ye up so vividly, so brightly, to that radiant land.

my brain?

The

desert hath no palaces, the sands no fountain-stream,

And the brave and beautiful are frail and shadowy as my dream.

And urns of massive crystal bright stood on The palaces of Araby! Oh, there is not a each marble floor,

stone

Where odors of a thousand lands burned To mark the splendor and the pride for ever

And the gleaming of uncounted geins and Lost Araby, lost Araby, the world's extin-
the blaze of odorous light
guished light,

Streamed down from every fretted dome Thou liest dark and desolate, a thing of shame
magnificently bright.

I see them now" so fancy deems"-those
bright Arabian girls

Binding with glittering gems and flowers

their dark and flowing curls,

Or sweeping with their long rich robes
throughout those marble halls,

Or holding in their rose-clad bowers gay,
gorgeous festivals.

I see them now-" so fancy deems "—those
warriors high and bold

Draining their draughts of ruby wine from
cups of massive gold,

Or dashing on their battle-steeds like meteors
to the war

With the dazzling gleam of helm and shield
and jewelled scimitar.

and blight;

tears

Counted

my moments through the blessed day. And then to this there was a dull, strange ache

For ever sleeping in my breast-a numbing pain

That would not for an instant be forgot.
Oh, but I loved him so, that very feeling
Became intolerable. And I believed
This false Giuseppe, too, for all the sneers,
The shrugs and glances, of my intimates.
They slandered me and him, yet I believed.
He was a noble, and his love to me
Was a reproach, a shame, yet I believed.
He wearied of me, tried to shake me off,
Grew cold and formal, yet I would not doubt.
Oh, lady, I was true! Nor till I saw
Giuseppe walk through the cathedral door
With Dora, the rich usurer's niece, upon
The

very arm to which I clung so oft,
Did I so much as doubt him. Even then-

More is my shame—I made excuses for him: "Just this or that had forced him to the

course:

Perhaps he loved me yet-a little yet.
His fortune or his family had driven
My poor Giuseppe thus against his heart.
The low are sorry judges for the great.
Yes, yes, Giuseppe loved me!" But at last
I did awake. It might have been with less:
There was no need of crushing me, to break
My silly dream up. In the street, it chanced,
Dora and he went by me, and he laughed
A bold, bad laugh—right in my poor pale face,

And turned and whispered Dora, and she laughed.

Ah! then I saw it all. I've been awake
Ever since then, I warrant you. And now
I only pray for him sometimes, when friends
Tell his base actions toward his hapless wife.
Oh, I am lying: I pray every night!

GEORGE H. BOKER.

WARDEN, KEEP A PLACE FOR ME. INCIDENT OF PRISON LIFE IN THE KINGS COUNTY PENITENTIARY.

DISCHARGED again! Yes, I am free,

But, warden, keep a place for me;
For freedom means that I must go
Out in the wind and rain and snow
To fight with hunger, shame and cold,
A woman and worn and old-
gray
To clothe myself in rags again,
And seek some wretched, narrow den;
And after that what must be done?
Steal? Beg? Hard lines for any one.
To work is easier. I would try,
But there's no work for such as I.
A fine thing, truly, to be free!
But, warden, keep a place for me;

For I'll come back. It's seven years
Since first I entered here in tears.
"Drunk and disorderly " I came,
And felt the burden and the shame,
The prison taint, the outlaw's dread
When first behind his hopeless tread
The gates clang to with dreadful sound
And the dark prison walls close round.

But when I went away I said,
"If I can earn my daily bread,
I'll work my fingers off before
I'll wear a convict's dress once more.

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The Classic and the Beautiful from the Literature of Three Thousand ..., Band 1