Damascus. THE CONVERSION OF ST. PAUL. THE midday sun, with fiercest glare, The palm-tree's shade unwavering lies, The leader of that martial crew With lips firm closed and fixed eye, What sudden blaze is round him poured, One moment, and to earth he falls: For to the rest both words and form His persecuted Lord revealed And hears the meek upbraiding call "Ah! wherefore persecut'st thou me?" * John Keble. A AN ORIENTAL IDYL. SILVER javelin which the hills Have hurled upon the plain below, The fleetest of the Pharpar's rills, Beneath me shoots in flashing flow. I hear the never-ending laugh Of jostling waves that come and go, And suck the bubbling pipe, and quaff The sherbet cooled in mountain snow. The flecks of sunshine gleam like stars And in the distant, dim bazaars No evil fear, no dream forlorn, Darkens my heaven of perfect blue; My blood is tempered to the morn, My very heart is steeped in dew. What Evil is I cannot tell; But half I guess what Joy may be; I feel no more the pulse's strife, - Upon the glittering pageantries The painted pictures of a book. Forgotten now are name and race; The Past is blotted from my brain; For Memory sleeps, and will not trace The weary pages o'er again. I only know the morning shines, Deep-sunken in the charmed repose, This ignorance is bliss extreme; Bayard Taylor. L CAFÉS IN DAMASCUS. ANGUIDLY the night-wind bloweth Where the clear Barrada floweth With a lulling sound. Not the lute-note's sweetest shiver Can such music find, As is on a wandering river, On a wandering wind. There the Moslem leaneth, dreaming O'er the inward world, While around the fragrant steaming Of the smoke is curled, Rising from the coffee berry, Dark grape of the South; Or the pipe of polished cherry, With its amber mouth, Cooled by passing through the water, Gurgling as it flows, Scented by the Summer's daughter, By that Rose's spirit haunted Of far lands, and lives enchanted, And of deep black eyes. Thus with some sweet dream's assistance, Would to Heaven our whole existence Could be such a dream! Letitia Elizabeth Landon. Endor. SAUL. HOU whose spell can raise the dead, Bid the prophet's form appear. Samuel, raise thy buried head! King, behold the phantom seer!" Earth yawned; he stood the centre of a cloud : His hand was withered and his veins were dry; |