And in the empire of thine heart,
Where I should solely be,
If others do pretend a part,
Or dare to vie with me,
Or if committees thou erect,

And go on such a score,
I'll laugh and sing at thy neglect,
And never love thee more.

But if thou wilt prove faithful then,
And constant of thy word,
I'll make thee glorious by my pen,

And famous by my sword;

I'll serve thee in such noble ways

Was never heard before,

I'll crown and deck thee all with bays,
And love thee more and more.

JAMES GRAHAM, MARQUESS

OF MONTROSE.

LOVE AND TIME.

Two pilgrims from the distant plain
Come quickly o'er the mossy ground.
One is a boy, with locks of gold
Thick curling round his face so fair;
The other pilgrim, stern and old,
Has snowy beard and silver hair.
The youth with many a merry trick
Goes singing on his careless way;
His old companion walks as quick,

But speaks no word by night or day. Where'er the old man treads, the grass

Fast fadeth with a certain doom; But where the beauteous boy doth pass Unnumbered flowers are seen to bloom.

While passing by your mother's door, It was that dear, delicious hour

When Owen here the nosegay brought, And found you in the woodbine bower, Since then, indeed, I've needed naught."

A blush steals over Norah's face,
A smile comes over Owen's brow,
A tranquil joy illumes the place,

As if the moon were shining now; The boy beholds the pleasing pain, The sweet confusion he has done, And shakes the crystal glass again, And makes the sands more quickly run. "Dear Norah, we are pilgrims, bound

Upon an endless path sublime; We pace the green earth round and round, And mortals call us LOVE and TIME; He seeks the many, I the few;

I dwell with peasants, he with kings. We seldom meet; but when we do,

I take his glass, and he my wings.

"And thus together on we go,

Where'er I chance or wish to lead; And Time, whose lonely steps are slow, Now sweeps along with lightning speed. Now on our bright predestined way

We must to other regions pass ; But take this gift, and night and day Look well upon its truthful glass. "How quick or slow the bright sands fall Is hid from lovers' eyes alone,

If you can see them move at all,

Be sure your heart has colder grown. "T is coldness makes the glass grow dry, The icy hand, the freezing brow; But warm the heart and breathe the sigh,

And then they'll pass you know not how." She took the glass where Love's warm hands A bright impervious vapor cast, She looks, but cannot see the sands,

Although she feels they 're falling fast. But cold hours came, and then, alas !

She saw them falling frozen through, Till Love's warm light suffused the glass, And hid the loosening sands from view!

DENIS FLORENCE MACCARTHY.

151

SONG OF NOURMAHAL IN "THE LIGHT OF THE HAREM."

"FLY to the desert, fly with me,
Our Arab tents are rude for thee;

But oh the choice what heart can doubt
Of tents with love or thrones without?

"Our rocks are rough, but smiling there
The acacia waves her yellow hair,
Lonely and sweet, nor loved the less
For flowering in a wilderness.

"Our sands are bare, but down their slope The silvery-footed antelope

As gracefully and gayly springs

As o'er the marble courts of kings.

--

"Then come, thy Arab maid will be
The loved and lone acacia-tree,
The antelope, whose feet shall bless
With their light sound thy loneliness.

"Oh! there are looks and tones that dart
An instant sunshine through the heart,
As if the soul that minute caught
Some treasure it through life had sought;

"As if the very lips and eyes
Predestined to have all our sighs,
And never be forgot again,
Sparkled and spoke before as then!

"So came thy every glance and tone,
When first on me they breathed and shone;
New, as if brought from other spheres,
Yet welcome as if loved for years!

"Then fly with me, if thou hast known
No other flame, nor falsely thrown
A gem away, that thou hadst sworn
Should ever in thy heart be worn.

"Come, if the love thou hast for me
Is pure and fresh as mine for thee,
Fresh as the fountain underground,
When first 't is by the lapwing found.

"But if for me thou dost forsake
Some other maid, and rudely break
Her worshipped image from its base,
To give to me the ruined place;

But breathing, as it did, a tone
To earthly lutes and lips unknown ;
With every chord fresh from the touch
Of music's spirit, 't was too much!
Starting, he dashed away the cup,
Which, all the time of this sweet air,
His hand had held, untasted, up,

As if 't were fixed by magic there,
And naming her, so long unnamed,
So long unseen, wildly exclaimed,
"O Nourmahal! O Nourmahal!

Hadst thou but sung this witching strain,

I could forget forgive thee all,

And never leave those eyes again."

I said to the lily, "There is but one
With whom she has heart to be gay.
When will the dancers leave her alone?

She is weary of dance and play."
Now half to the setting moon are gone,
And half to the rising day;

Low on the sand and loud on the stone
The last wheel echoes away.

I said to the rose, "The brief night goes
In babble and revel and wine.
O young lord-lover, what sighs are those
For one that will never be thine?

But mine, but mine," so I sware to the rose, "For ever and ever mine!"

And the soul of the rose went into my blood,
As the music clashed in the hall;

And long by the garden lake I stood,

For I heard your rivulet fall

From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood,

Our wood, that is dearer than all;

From the meadow your walks have left so sweet

That whenever a March-wind sighs,

He sets the jewel-print of your feet

In violets blue as your eyes,

To the woody hollows in which we meet,
And the valleys of Paradise.

The slender acacia would not shake

One long milk-bloom on the tree;

The white lake-blossom fell into the lake,

As the pimpernel dozed on the lea ;

But the rose was awake all night for your sake,

Knowing your promise to me;

The lilies and roses were all awake,
They sighed for the dawn and thee.

Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls,
Come hither the dances are done;
In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls,
Queen lily and rose in one ;

Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls,
To the flowers, and be their sun.