But the cruel sun in sinking turns the shadow from

its goal,

And between, a bar forever, the Jumna's waters roll; And as the light grows fainter, and clouds lose their golden rim,

The vision also changes, and its glory waxes dim. The mighty realm is torn by strife, the notes of war resound;

Disgraced, deposed by filial hands, the monarch stands uncrowned!

His servants fled, for none were found of all the craven band

For the beleaguered sovereign in peril firm to stand! Ere death call no man happy, lest the future evil

bring,"

Such the moral history teaches to the peasant and the king.

But though the sovereign's sunset days were clouded o'er by ill,

A token of his glory, the Taj stands firmly still. Majestic shrine of other days, to thee the power belongs To resist the flight of ages and to awe the stranger

throng;

Long as the sacred Jumna o'er its bed of sand shall

flow,

Thy glorious dome to heaven shall raise its massive breast of snow,

For the spirit of the monarch and the builder's art combine

To guard from lightning's levin-bolt, and time's decay,

the shrine.

Anonymous.

JAHARA BAUG.

AGRA was Shah Jehan's city residence. It was from its walls that he witnessed the overthrow of Prince Dara, his eldest son. The Jahara Baug is one of the gardens adjoining the river.

T was the lovely twilight-time went down o'er Agra's

IT

towers,

And silent were her marble halls, and tranquil were her bowers;

The crimson colors of the rose were melting on the air, And from the ivory minarets arose the evening prayer.

The snowy herons to the roofs were flocking for the night,

The columns and the cupolas were bathed in purple light; And the large lilies on the stream grew fairer in their

hue,

As they flung up each silver cup to catch the falling

dew.

Filled with the sweet good-night of flowers that sigh themselves to sleep,

Along the quiet river's side, the shadowy gardens sweep; While fair and pale, like some young girl who pines with early love,

The young moon seems as if she feared to take her place above.

Is there no feasting in those halls? why is that palace

mute?

The silvery cadences unheard of the young dancer's foot:

How changed since that glad marriage eve when with the dance and song

Prince Dara led his cousin-bride those lighted halls

along.

How changed since that imperial day, when at his father's hand,

The eldest-born sat down to share that father's high command;

And the proud nobles of the court drew forth the glittering sword,

In token all were at his will, and waited but his word.

An old man sits upon the walls that guard the eastern

side;

'Tis not to hear the wild wind wake the music of the

tide :

The rising of the evening star, the perfume from the

bough,

The last sweet singing of the doves, - all pass unheeded now.

The aged king sits on his tower, and strains his eyes

afar,

And asks of every passer-by for tidings of the war; They come, he sees the scattered flight of Dara's broken bands;

At last a fugitive himself, his son before him stands.

The monarch hid his face and wept, he heard his firstborn say,

"The crown you placed upon my brow this hour has passed away;

My brother is my enemy,

And I must seek these ancient walls, to shelter and defend."

'Not so," the old king said, "my son; fly thou with spear and shield,

For never walls could stand for those who stood not in the field."

He wept before his father's face then fled across the

plain;

The desolate and the fugitive, they never met again.

Time has passed on, and Dara's doom is darkly drawing nigh;

The vanquished prince has only left to yield, despair, and die;

The faithful friend, the conquering foe have been around

his path,

And now a wild and desert home is all Prince Dara

hath.

The sands are bare, the wells are dry, and not a single

tree

Extends its shade o'er him who had a royal canopy; There is not even safety found amid those burning sands;

The exile has a home to seek in far and foreign lands.

He lingers yet upon his way,—within his tents is death; He cannot fly till he has caught Nadira's latest breath.

How can he bear to part with her, she who, since first his bride,

In woe and want his comforter, has never left his side!

He kissed the pale, unconscious cheek, - he flung him at her feet;

He gazed how fondly on those eyes he nevermore might

meet;

""Tis well," he cried, "my latest friend is from my bosom flown;

Go bear her to her father's tomb, while I go forth alone."

The traitor is upon his way, the royal prey is found, And by ignoble hands and chains the monarch's son is bound;

Garbed as a slave, they lead him forth the public ways along,

But on his noble brow is scorn, and on his lip a song.

'Tis midnight; but the midnight crime is darker than the night,

And Aurungzebe with gloomy brow awaits the morning light;

The morning light is dyed for him with an accusing red, They bring to the usurper's feet his brother Dara's head!

Letitia Elizabeth Landon.