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Glittering squares of colored ice,

Sweetened with syrop, tinctured with spice ;
Creams, and cordials, and sugared dates;
Syrian apples, Othmance quinces,
Limes, and citrons, and apricots ;

And wines that are known to Eastern princes.
And Nubian slaves, with smoking pots
Of spiced meats, and costliest fish,

And all that the curious palate could wish,
Pass in and out of the cedarn doors.

Scattered over mosaic floors
Are anemones, myrtles, and violets;
And a musical fountain throws its jets
Of a hundred colors into the air.
The dark Sultana loosens her hair,
And stains with the henna plant the tips
Of her pearly nails, and bites her lips
Till they bloom again; but alas, that rose
Not for the Sultan buds and blows!

Not for the Sultan Shah-Zaman
When he goes to the city Ispahan.

Then at a wave of her sunny hand,
The dancing girls of Samarcand
Float in like mists from Fairy-land !
And to the low voluptuous swoons
Of music, rise and fall the moons

Of their full brown bosoms. Orient blood
Runs in their veins, shines in their eyes;
And there in this Eastern paradise,
Filled with the fumes of sandal-wood,
And Khoten musk, and aloes, and myrrh,
Sits Rose in Bloom on a silk divan,
Sipping the wines of Astrakhan ;
And her Arab lover sits with her.
That's when the Sultan Shah-Zaman
Goes to the city Ispahan.

Now, when I see an extra light
Flaming, flickering on the night,
From my neighbor's casement opposite,
I know as well as I know to pray,

I know as well as a tongue can say,
That the innocent Sultan Shah-Zaman
Has gone to the city Ispahan.

THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH.

CUPID SWALLOWED.

T'OTHER day, as I was twining
Roses for a crown to dine in,
What, of all things, midst the heap,
Should I light on, fast asleep,
But the little desperate elf,
The tiny traitor, Love himself!
By the wings I pinched him up
Like a bee, and in a cup

Och jewel, keep dhraming that same till you | I'd give up the whole world and in banishment die, die;

And bright morning will give dirty night the But Nancy came by, a round plump little creablack lie!

And 't is plazed that I am, and why not, to be

sure?

Since 't is all for good luck," says bold Rory

O'More.

ture,

And fixed in my heart quite another design. 'T is a bit of a thing that a body might sing Just to set us a-going and season the wine. Little Nance, like a Hebe, was buxom and gay, 'Arrah, Kathleen, my darlint, you've teazed Had a bloom like the rose and was fresher than me enough; May;

Sure, I've thrashed, for your sake, Dinny Grimes O, I felt if she frowned I would die by a rope, and Jim Duff; And my bosom would burst if she slighted my

And I've made myself, drinking your health, quite a baste,

So I think, after that, I may talk to the priest." Then Rory, the rogue, stole his arm round her neck,

So soft and so white, without freckle or speck; And he looked in her eyes, that were beaming with light,

hope;

But the slim, taper, elegant Fanny looked at me,

And, troth, I no longer for Nancy could pine. 'T is a bit of a thing that a body might sing

Just to set us a-going and season the wine.

Now Fanny's light frame was so slender and fine
That she skimmed in the air like a shadow divine.

And he kissed her sweet lips - Don't you think Her motion bewitched, and to my loving eye

he was right?

O, THAT's what you mean now, a bit of a song,
Arrah, faith, then here goes, you sha'n't bother
me long;

I require no teazing, no praying, nor stuff,
By my soul, if you wish it, I'm ready enough
To give you no end; you shall have a beginning,
And, troth, though the music is not over fine,
"T is a bit of a thing that a body might sing

Just to set us a-going and season the wine.

O, I once was a lover, like some of you here,
And could feed a whole night on a sigh or a tear,
No sunshine I knew but from Kitty's black eye,
And the world was a desert when she was n't by;
But the devil knows how, I got fond of Miss
Betty,

And Kitty slipt out of this bosom of mine. 'Tis a bit of a thing that a body might sing Just to set us a-going and season the wine.

Now Betty had eyes soft and blue as the sky,
And the lily was black when her bosom was nigh;
O, I vowed and I swore if she'd not a kind eye

'T was an angel soft gliding 'twixt earth and the sky.

'T was all mighty well till I saw her fat sister,

And that gave a turn I could never define. "T is a bit of a thing that a body might sing Just to set us a-going and season the wine.

O, so I go on, ever constantly blest,
For I find I've a great stock of love in my breast;
And it never grows less, for whenever I try
To get one in my heart, I get two in my eye.
To all kinds of beauty I bow with devotion,

And all kinds of liquor by turns I make mine;
So I'll finish the thing that another may sing,
Just to keep us a-going and season the wine.

CAPT. MORRIS.*

THE AGE OF WISDOM.

Ho! pretty page, with the dimpled chin,
That never has known the barber's shear,
All your wish is woman to win;
This is the way that boys begin,

Wait till you come to forty year.

Curly gold locks cover foolish brains;
Billing and cooing is all your cheer,
Sighing, and singing of midnight strains,
Under Bonnybell's window-panes,

Wait till you come to forty year.

Forty times over let Michaelmas pass ;
Grizzling hair the brain doth clear;
Then you know a boy is an ass,
Then you know the worth of a lass,
Once you have come to forty year.

* A boon companion of George, Prince Regent.