Clanking chains and sounds of wo
Fill the forests as they go,
And the tall oaks cower low
Bent their flaming flight before.

On! on the storm of wings
Bears far the fiery fear,

Till scarce the breeze now brings
Dim murm'rings to the ear;
Like locust's humming hail,
Or thrash of tiny flail
Plied by the pattering hail
On some old roof-tree near.

Fainter now are borne
Fitful mutterings still;
As when Arab horn
Swells its magic peal,
Shoreward o'er the deep
Fairy voices sweep,
And the infant's sleep
Golden visions fill!

Each deadly Djinn,
Dark child of fright,
Of death and sin,
Speeds the wild flight.
Hark, the dull moan,
Like the deep tone
Of ocean's groan,
Afar, by night!

More and more
Fades it now,
As on shore
Ripple's flow,
As the plaint
Far and faint
Of a saint

Murmured low.

Hark-hist!

Around,
I list!

The bounds

Of space
All trace

Efface
Of sound.

V.

MOONLIGHT.

Per amica silentia luna.-VIRGIL.

Bright shone the merry moonbeams dancing o'er the wave;
At the cool casement to the evening breeze flung wide
Leans the sultana, and delights to watch the tide
With band of silvery sheen yon sleeping islets lave.

From her hand as it falls, vibrates her light guitar—
She listens-hark, that sound that echoes dull and low!
Is it the beat upon the Archipelago

Of some deep galley's oar, from Scio bound afar?

Is it the cormorants whose black wings, one by one,

Cut the blue wave that o'er them breaks in liquid pearls? Is it some hovering djinn with whistling scream that hurls Down to the deep from yon old tower each loosened stone?

Who thus disturbs the tide near the Seraglio?

'Tis no dark cormorants upon the sea that float'Tis no dull plunge of stones-no oars of Turkish boat With measured beat along the water sweeping slow.

'Tis heavy sacks, borne each by voiceless eunuch slave; And could you dare to sound the depth of yon dark tide, Something like human form would stir within its side; Bright shone the merry moonbeams dancing o'er the wave.

VI.

THE VEIL.

Have you prayed to-night, Desdemona?-SHAKSPEARE.

SISTER.

What ails, what ails you, brothers dear?
Those knitted brows why cast ye down?
Why gleams that light of deathly fear
Neath the dark shadows of your frown?
Torn are your girdles' crimson bands;
And thrice already have I seen,

Half drawn within your shuddering hands,
Glitter your poniards' naked sheen.

ELDEST BROTHER.

Sister, hath not to-day thy veil upraiséd been?

SISTER.

As I returnéd from the bath,

From the bath, brothers, I returned,

By the mosque led my homeward path,
And fiercely down the hot noon burned;

In my uncovered palanquin,

Safe from all eye of infidel,

I gasped for air-I dreamed no sin-
My veil a single instant fell.

SECOND BROTHER.

A man was passing ?-in green caftan ?-sister, tell!

SISTER.

Yes, yes-perhaps-but his bold eye
Saw not the blush upon my cheek-
Why speak ye thus aside-oh, why,
Brothers, aside do ye thus speak?
Will ye my blood?-oh hear me swear,
He saw me not-he could not see!
Mercy!-will ye refuse to spare
Weak woman helpless on her knee?

THIRD BROTHER.

When sank the sun to-night, in robe of red was he!

Am I not thine? Why carest thou,
Enfolded thus within my arms,
If in my wide Seraglio,

A hundred pretty slaves or so
Sigh o'er their unregarded charms?

In their unbroken solitude,

In hopeless envy let them pine;
Let them pass by, as flows the flood
Thou smilest on in idle mood-
Is not my every hour thine?

Thine all the realm that kneels to me-
Stamboul, whose thousand spires leap
Skyward, so tall and arrowy,
That, cradled fair upon the sea,

It seems an anchored fleet asleep!

Thine my red-turbaned Spahis fleet,
Thine, ne'er a rival sway to know,
As stream their swift mares' mingling feet,.
Each gallant rider in his seat

Like rower to his oar bent low!

Thine, thine, Bassora, Trebisond,

Cyprus, where names of old are graved, Fez, where rich sands of gold abound, Mozul, where a world's mart is found, Erzéroum, with its streets all paved!

Thine Smyrna, all so fair outspread,
Smiling above her foam-white shore;
Ganges, the Hindoo widow's dread,
And Danube, from whose mighty bed
Into the sea five rivers pour!

Say! fearest thou Ionia's maid?
Damanhour's lily pale and bland?
Or flaming eye and brow of shade
By Ethiopia's sun-blaze made,

Like tigress of the same dark land?

Then on these humble flowers here

Cease to call down the tempest's might;

Enjoy thy conquest free from fear,

Nor claim a head for every tear

That dims those soft eyes' liquid light.

Thy bowers-the baths where thou dost laveThy gems-with these thy dreams be filledThy fairy barks upon the wave;

The Sultan must Sultanas have,

As pearls must deck the poniard's hilt.

VIII.

EXPECTATION.

Esperaba, desperaba.

Squirrel, mount yon oak so high,
To its twig that next the sky

Bends and trembles as a flower.
Strain, oh stork, thy pinion well,
From thy nest 'neath old church bell,
Mount to yon tall citadel,

And its tallest donjon tower!

To yon mountain, eagle old,
Mount, whose brow so white and cold
Kisses the last ray of even.
And, oh thou that lov'st to mark
Morn's first sunbeam pierce the dark,
Mount, oh, mount, thou joyous lark,
Joyous lark, oh, mount to heaven!

And now say, from topmost bough,
Towering shaft and peak of snow,

And heaven's arch-oh, can ye see
One white plume that like a star
Streams along the plain afar,
And a steed that from the war
Bears my lover back to me?

IX.

PIRATE SONG.

"Alerte! alerte! voici les pirates d'Ochali qui traversent le détroit!"-Le Captif d'Ochali.

As into slavery we bore

A hundred Christian dogs or so,
To recruit the Seraglio

We coasted close along the shore.
Off, off, bold rovers! off to sea!

From Fez to Catana our way;
All in a galley brave and gay,
Just three times thirty oars were we.

Gleams a white convent in the sun';
Silent and swift we anchor nigh;
And the first object we espy,

Allah! a lovely novice nun!
Reclined beneath a shady tree,
Close by the beach asleep she lay ;
All in a galley brave and gay,
Just three times thirty oars were_we.