And Margiana to the Hyrcanian cliffs Of Susiana, to Balsara's haven. He saw them in their forms of battle ranged, How quick they wheeled, and flying behind them shot The city of Gallaphrone, from thence to win His daughter, sought by many prowest knights, John Milton. THE EAST. KNOW the land where the cypress and myrtle ye Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime, Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle, Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime? Know ye the land of the cedar and vine, Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever shine; Where the light wings of Zephyr, oppressed with perfume, Wax faint o'er the gardens of Gúl in her bloom; And the purple of ocean is deepest in dye; Where the virgins are soft as the roses they twine, And all, save the spirit of man, is divine? "T is the clime of the East; 't is the land of the Sun, Can he smile on such deeds as his children have done? O, wild as the accents of lovers' farewell, Are the hearts which they bear, and the tales which they tell. Lord Byron. THE POET IN THE EAST. THE Poet came to the Land of the East, The Earth was dressed for a wedding feast, And the Poet knew the Land of the East,- All things to him were the visible forms Familiar visions that mocked his quest Beside the Western streams, Or gleamed in the gold of the clouds, unrolled In the sunset's dying beams. He looked above in the cloudless calm, Was all about him blown, And a brother to him was the princely Palm, For he cannot live alone. His feet went forth on the myrtled hills, They knew the Poet's tread, And far and wide, in a scarlet tide, The poppy's bonfire spread. And, half in shade and half in sun, The Rose sat in her bower, With a passionate thrill in her crimson heart,— Then the Nightingale, who sat above For the rose you kissed with the kiss of love, And further sang the Nightingale : I heard the sound of a Persian lute And, twin-bright stars, through the lattice-bars, The Poet said: "I will here abide, Bayard Taylor. BEHIND THE HAREEM. EHIND the veil, where depth is traced Behind the lattice closely laced With filigree of choice design, Behind the lofty garden-wall, Where stranger face can ne'er surprise, That inner world her all-in-all, The Eastern Woman lives and dies. Husband and children round her draw That scarce with choice her mind molests; Their birth and tutelage the ground And meaning of her life on earth, She knows not elsewhere could be found If young and beautiful, she dwells And dreams not that the love she gives Within the gay kiosk reclined, Above the scent of lemon groves, |