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doth go;

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

Of Life and Glory cometh.


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.



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,

* Buddha.

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.

let pass

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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

Paraphrased from Arabic verses.

See Palgrave's Arabia." He who died at Azan sends this, to comfort faithful friends.

FAITHFUL friends! It lies, I know,
Pale and cold, and still as snow;
And you say, “Abdullah's dead!"
Weeping at its feet and head.
I can see your falling tears,
I can hear your sighs and prayers ;
Yet I smile, and whisper this,
“I am not the thing you kiss ;
Cease your wail and let it lie,
It was mine ;-it is not 1!"

Sweet friends! what the women lave
For its last bed in the grave
Was a hut which I am quitting-
Was a garment, no more fitting-
Was a cage, wherefrom, at last
Like a bird, my soul hath past.
Love the inmate, not the room,
The wearer, not the garb— the plume
Of the eagle, not the bars
Which kept him from the splendid stars.
Loving friends! be wise and dry
Straightway every weeping eye!
What you lift upon the bier
Is not worth a single tear;

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'Tis a simple sea-shell, one
Out of which the pearl is gone;
The shell is nothing-leave it there-
The pearl, the soul-was all-is here!
'Tis an earthen pot, whose lid
Allah sealed, the while it hid
That treasure of His treasury-
A mind that loved Him; let it be!
Let the shards be earth's once more,
Since the gold goes to His stoie!
Allah glorious, Allah good,
Now Thy world is understood !
Now the long, long wonder ends,
Yet you weep, my foolish friends ;
While the man you say “is dead"
In unspoken bliss instead
Lives and loves you ;-lost, 'tis true,
For any light that shines with you;
But, in that light you do not see,
Raised to full felicity,
In a perfect Paradise,
And a life which never dies.

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Farewell friends! yet not farewell:
Where you are I too shall dwell ;
I am gone beyond your face,
A moment's march, a single pace.
When you come where I have stepped,
You will wonder why you wept;
You will see by true life taught,
That here is all, and there is nought.
Weep a while, if you are fain,
Sunshine still must follow rain,
Only, not at death; for death
Now, see, is that long breath
Which our souls draw when they enter
Life that is of all life-centre.

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
Viewed from Allah's seat above;
Be ye stout of hope, and come
Bravely onward to your home.
From its happy gate my ken
Sees you, struggling "souls," not''men,"
All for nameless joys decreed,
Which your wills may stay or speed ;
But not one-at last-to fail,
Since at last Love must prevail. .
La Allah, illa Allah,yea,
Thou Love divine! thou Lord alway!

He that died at Azan gave
This—to those who made his grave.

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


of men,

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,

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