Now on that tomb sleep evening's mellow rays,
Its dark sides softening in the golden haze;
The heart throbs high, yet solemn feeling steeps
The awe-struck soul, for here famed Daniel sleeps!

Mighty of eld! interpreter of dreams! Stern, mystic, awful, as his sacred themes! We pause, and doubt his very bones can rest Beneath this heathy turf, the wild-bird's nest; Yet here stood Susa, there those waters roll, Where heaven-born visions burst on Daniel's soul; Yes, he, the favored of Chaldea's kings,

Who swept the future's depths on prophet-wings, Hath oft, perchance, roamed here in thought sublime, Mused by these murmuring waves, unchanged by time, At night's deep hour yon lonely mountains trod, Mourned for his captive race, and called on God.

*

Susa! that held the wealth of Persia's kings,
Gold, silver, gems, and luxury's sweetest things;
Susa! the pleasant city of delight,

With groves so shady, and with streams so bright,
Where sang the bulbul to his blushing rose,
Half matched by Beauty's lyre at evening's close;
Where spread those lily-gardens far and near,
Like carpets of soft snow through half the year,
Save that they breathed perfumes as purely sweet
As wreaths of angels, when the blessed they meet;
Save that their tall green stems hid frolic Love,
Who laughed and played, and still would peep above,

Crowning the maid he lured amid their flowers With blooms all fresh as those in Eden's bowers.

Alas for Susa! Climb we thoughtful, slow,
The giant mound, the Hebrew's grave below.
The eye looks east and west, but all is bare,
A drear expanse, a savage desert there;
And other mounds in wild confusion sweep,
Like waves heaped high, then frozen on the deep.
The joyous city, and the murmuring crowd,
The lily-garden, and the palace proud,

The lutes of maids, the bulbul's melting song,
The happy groups that danced the meads along, -
All now have mingled with the eternal past,
A lamp gone out, a dream that might not last,
And o'er these heaps Oblivion waves her wing,
And the poor grasshopper will scarce be king!

Yet interest haloes still fair Susa's name, And hearts unborn shall treasure up her fame, Shall thrill sweet Esther's varied tale to hear, And for the wrongs of Vashti ask a tear. Pilgrims, when we are dust, shall climb this mound, And gaze like us, and sink in thought profound. Here, too, when day along the desert dies, And sunset glories slowly quit the skies, Will lean the dreamer, and in fancy see Gay sights of old, and pomp no more to be. High on yon pile where rays of violet fall, Will feast Darius, throned amidst his hall, In deeper shade sad Vashti wander by,

Weep for her lord, and breathe her fruitless sigh.
There Mordecai will watch the palace gate,
And proud Hamán defy approaching fate;
While, as the stars peep out, and silvery beams
Light sacred Ulai, and Choaspes' streams,
And desert flowers their dewy eyelids close,
And all but elves and peris seek repose,
That group of chosen maids will seem to shine,
Sweet as the flowers, and as the stars divine,
The maids from every country gathered there,
The pale, the rosy-cheeked, the dark, the fair,
The bright, the languid-eyed, the short, the tall,
And Hebrew Esther, loveliest of them all!
Nicholas Michell.

Thus.

THUS.

HAH MAHOMET full well had dined,

SHAH

And his soul to be merry is fully inclined.

In the garden at twilight, on purple seat
He sits by the fountain. Its splashing sounds sweet.

With looks respectful his servants stand:
His favorite Ansari's amongst the band.

From marble vases a fiery gush
Of luxuriant flowers appears to rush.

Like Odalisques with graceful arms

Stand fanning themselves the slender palms.

The cypresses stand with branches unfurled,
As if dreaming of heaven, forgetting the world.

But sudden to strains of the lute erelong
Is heard a gentle mysterious song.

The Shah sprang up, as if sorely perplexed:

'Who wrote of this song the charming text?"

Ansari, from whom he sought to know it,
Replied: ""T is the work of Ferdusi the poet."

"Ferdusi!" exclaimed the prince in dismay,
"Where is he? How fares the poet, O, say!"

Ansari gave answer: 'In poverty great

He has lived full long in a mournful state

"At Thus, the native town of the bard, Where he in his garden works full hard.”

Shah Mahomet paused, and presently said: "Ansari, a thought has come into my head.

"To my stables make haste, and with hands unthrifty Take a hundred mules, and camels fifty.

And lade them all with every treasure

That fills the heart of a mortal with pleasure,

"With splendid articles, rich and rare, With costly dresses and furniture fair

"Of sandalwood and ivory white, With gold and silver tissues dight;

"With precious-handled goblets and pots, And leopard-skins, all covered with spots,

"With carpets and shawls and the richest brocade That in my kingdom has ever been made.

"And don't forget to pack with the rest
Some glittering arms, and of housings the best,

"As well as drinks of every kind

And eatables such as in pots we find,

"And almond cakes and sweetmeats Egyptian, And gingerbread of every description,

66 And also add a dozen steeds
As swift as arrows, of Arab breeds,

"And likewise a dozen slaves, black as coals, With bodies of steel, and sturdy souls.

"Ansari, when all these things thou hast got, Thou must start on thy journey, and linger not.

"Thou must take them all with my kind regard To Thus, to Ferdusi, the mighty bard."