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AN EASTERN MORNING.
We are the voices of the wandering wind, Which moan for rest, and rest can never
find; Lo! as the wind is, so is mortal life, A moan, a sigh, a sob, a storm, a strife. Wherefore and whence we are ye cannot
know, Nor where life springs, nor whither life We are as ye are, ghosts from the inane, What pleasure have we of our changeful
pain? What pleasure hast thou of thy changeless
bliss ? Nay, if love lasted, there were joy in this; But life's way is the wind's way; all these
things Are but brief voices breathed on shifting
THEN slept he* for what space the fleet
moon asks To swim a tenth part of her cloudy sea; But rose ere the False-dawn, and stood
again Wistful on some dark platform of his hill, Watching the sleeping earth with ardent eyes,
[things, And thoughts embracing all its living While o'er the waving fields that murmur
moved Which is the kiss of Morn waking the lands, And in the East that miracle of Day Gathered and grew. At first a dusk so dim, Night seems still unaware of whispered dawn.
(twice, But soon-before the jungle cock crows A white verge clear, a widening, brightening white,
[floods High as the herald-star, which fades in Of silver, warming into pale gold caught By topmost clouds, and flaming on their
[brink To fervent golden glow, flushed from the With saffron, scarlet, crimson, amethyst; Whereat the sky burns splendid to the blue, And, robed in raiment of glad light, the
O Maya's son! because we roam the earth, Moan we upon these strings; we make no
mirth, So many woes we see in many lands, So many streaming eyes and wringing
Yet mock we while we wail, for, could they
know, This life they cling to is but empty show; 'Twere all as well to bid a cloud to stand, Or hold a running river with the hand.
THE REJOICING OF NATURE AT
But thou that art to save, thine hour is
nigh! The sad world waiteth in its misery; The blind world stumbleth on its round of
pain; Rise, Maya's child! wake! slumber not
We are the voices of the wandering wind: Wander thou, too, O prince, thy rest to
find; Leave love for love of lovers, for woe's
sake Quit state for sorrow, and deliverance
Lo! the Dawn Sprang with Buddh's Victory ; lo ! in the
East Flamed the first fires of beauteous Day,
poured forth Through fleeting folds of Night's black
drapery. High in the widening blue the herald-star Faded to paler silver as there shot Brighter and brightest bars of rosy gleam Across the grey. Far off the shadowy hills Saw the great Sun, before the world was
'ware, And donned their crowns of crimson ;
flower by flower Felt the warm breath of Morn, and 'gan
unfold Their tender lids. Over the spangled grass Swept the swift footsteps of the lovely Light,
So sigh we, passing o'er the silver strings, To thee who know'st not yet of earthly
things; So say we; mocking, as we pass away, These lovely shadows wherewith thou dost
And saying, “There hath happed some
mighty thing." Also in Ran and jungle grew that day Friendship amongst the creatures: spotted deer
(cubs, Browsed fearless where the tigress fed her And cheetahs lapped the pool beside the bucks ;
(scoured, Under the eagle's rock the brown hares While his fierce beak but preened an idle wing;
(beam, The snake sunned all his jewels in the With deadly fangs in sheath; the shrike The nestling finch; the emerald halcyons Sate dreaming while the fishes played be
neath; Nor hawked the merops, though the
butterflies Crimson, and blue, and amber-fitted
thick Around his perch.
Turning the tears of Night to joyous gems Decking the earth with radiance, 'broidering
[fringe, The sinking storm-clouds with a golden Gilding the feathers of the palms which
waved Glad salutation ; darting beams of gold Into the glades; touching with magic wand The stream to rippled ruby ; in the brake Finding the mild eyes of the antelopes, And saying, “It is day;" in nested sleep Touching the small heads under many a wing,
(light of day." And whispering, “Children, praise the Whereat there piped anthems of all the
birds, The köil's fluted song, the bulbul's hymn, The "morning! morning !" of the painted
thrush, The twitter of the sunbirds starting forth To find the honey ere the bees be out, The grey crow's caw, the parrot's scream, the strokes
[chirp, Of the green hammersmith, the myna's The never-finished love-talk of the doves : Yea! and so holy was the influence Of that high Dawn which came with victory,
(spread That far and near in homes of men there An unknown peace.
The slayer hid his knife;
[shroff The robber laid his plunder back; the Counted full tale of coins; all evil hearts Grew gentle, kind hearts gentler, as the
balm Of that divinest Daybreak lightened earth. Kings at fierce war called truce; the sick men leaped
[smiled Laughing from beds of pain ; the dying As though they knew that happy Morn was sprung
[East; From fountains farther than the utmost And over the heart of sad Yasôdhara, Sitting forlorn at Prince Siddartha's bed, Came sudden bliss, as if love should not
fail, Nor such vast sorrow miss to end in joy. So glad the world was—though it wist not why
(songs That over desolate wastes went swooning Of mirth, the voice of bodiless Prets and
Bhuts, Foreseeing Buddh; and Devas in the air Cried, “It is finished, finished !" and the
priests Stood with the wondering people in the streets,
[the sky, Watching those golden splendours flood
A DEAD MAN'S MESSAGE.
See Palgrave's “ Arabia." He who died at Azan sends this, to comfort faithful friends.
FAITHFUL friends! It lies, I know,
Sweet friends! what the women lave
EDWARD WALFORD, M.A.
'Tis a simple sea-shell, one
Farewell friends! yet not farewell:
“Ye who believe in affection that hopes and
endures, and is patient, Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of a
woman's devotion, List to the mournful tradition."
PART I. 'MONG the gay nobles of Firenze's plains, Though still a ruddy stripling with fair
cheek And raven locks, not one in prowess vied With Gualtiero, by ten male descents Count of Saluzzo. For he sat his steed As none beside; and when he blew the
horn, And sallied to the field with hawk and
hound, All people cried, “Behold the noble son Of noble sires, the glory of his race," Proud was Saluzzo of her youthful Count: And sooth he was of a right ancient line The only hope ; and fear was in the hearts Of Gualtiero's vassals, day and night, That should some accident by flood or field Betide their lord, that fair domain should pass
[fierce. To distant strangers-men both rude and Now thrice six years had passed since first
he played A tiny infant at his mother's knee In fair Saluzzo's halls; but she, worn down With saddest heritage of widowed woe, All broken-hearted when scarce past her
prime, To her last rest had gone. Gualtiero mused Upon her memory, oft would dwell upon The soft, dark lineaments of her sweet face. Such thoughts would temper and subdue
to tears The pride which smouldered in his breast;
for she Had ruled his wayward temper as a child, And as he grew to boyhood. He recalled The long dark tresses of her raven hair, Which she would bind across her marble
brow, Her tender, loving eyes, her princely mien,
* It is scarcely necessary to tell the well-informed reader that the story of Griselda forms the concluding Novel of the Tenth Day in the “Decameron” of Boccaccio, and that it has been often quoted as the most touching of all the tales which make up that most witty and amusing book.
Be ye certain-all seems love
He that died at Azan gave
And the white flowing veil which swept
athwart The sable tokens of her widowed state.
Walked on the terrace 'neath the castle
wall To greet the Count upon his natal day. And Gualtiero stood amid the crowd Conspicuous by gay dress and manly gait, And easy courteous bearing; and he spake Kind words of friendship now to this, now
that, Waving his plumèd bonnet to the crowd.
And he would cry when weary of the chase, "Oh! the drear sadness of this lonely state, The vacant chamber where my mother
spun, The vacant chair wherein my mother sate, She whom they say my father 'Constance' called!
greet When shall these halls such other inmate As shall be fit to stand where Constance
stood ? No, that can never be: I'll hie me then Back to the chase, and in my hounds and
hawks Find some poor solace for a mother's loss. I see no maidens, and I care to see None, who resemble her in beauty, or In priceless, peerless worth: and yet 'tis
hard To live unloved, to see no loving face, To feel no loving hand, to know no heart That beats and throbs responsive to one's My mother's peer is far to seek ; and I Will ne'er disgrace her memory, or take A partner to myself unworthy her.”
Meantime a murmur in Saluzzo's streets Is buzzed, then noised abroad ; then rumour wakes
(zens Her hundred tongues ; and wrathful citiCry out in discontent.
" It shames us much Year after year to see untenanted Those halls in which the noble Constance
shone. Our gracious Countess cheered each
burgher's heart By kindly word or deed of charity. See how unpeopled now our market-place, Our streets, our shops, once busy haunts
[looms And hives of industry; how stand our All idle, and how idleness breeds sloth, And sloth breeds poverty and miscontent. Oh that our Count would choose some
noble bride Of Venice, Padua, or of Modena, And give us back a Constance in his
Stepped forth six burghers from the rest,
and said, "Most noble Count, son of a noble sire, Nor a less noble mother's son, we crave Audience and due attention at thine hands. We were thy father's vassals; we are
thine; And that allegiance that we paid to him We owe his son; nor shall it e'er be said That we were wanting in due loyalty. We love thy mother's and thy father's child,
[blood. And we would shed for thee, if need, our Thou wilt not therefore turn a cold, deaf
ear To our entreaty if plain words we speak. "Our city prospers, as thou seest, amiss: Its trade, its commerce, and its populace Are not as once they were, and still might And much it troubles us lest aught befall Our youthful Count, and this free, loyal
state Pass to the appanage of unworthy lords. There is no heir to thine ancestral line ; And, reft of her who queenlike should preside
felt Over thy court, whose presence should be Like that of the meridian sun, to shed Light, warmth, and plenty round, our city
pines. 'Tis but a little step from murmurings deep To discontent, and wrath rebellion breeds. Leave us not then without a lord, nor live Heirless, but think thee of our earnest prayer.
(seek And if thou lov'st the chase, and still wilt The wild boar's lair, a huntsman, nor wilt heed
(task Thoughts of young love, to us entrust the To find a mate well worthy of thy bed." Right worthy friends and neighbours,"
he replied, “That which ye bid me do I had resolved Wary to shun; for though full many a
It happened thus one day, one festival: High mass was over, and, as wont it was. The burghers of Saluzzo and their wives, Children and all, a goodly retinue,