Arriving at the summit of a hill

Which overlook'd the white walls of his home,
He stopp'd.-What singular emotions fill
Their bosoms who have been induced to roam!
With fluttering doubts if all be well or ill-
With love for many, and with fears for some;
All feelings which o'erleap the years long lost,
And bring our hearts back to their starting-post.
XXII.

The approach of home to husbands and to sires,
After long travelling by land or water,
Most naturally some small doubt inspires-
A female family's a serious matter;
(None trusts the sex more, or so much admires,
But they hate flattery, so I never flatter ;)
Wives in their husbands' absences grow subtler,
And daughters sometimes run off with the butler.

That ever scuttled ship or cut a throat; With such true breeding of a gentleman, You never could divine his real thought; No courtier could, and scarcely woman can Gird more deceit within a petticoat; Pity he loved adventurous life's variety He was so great a loss to good society

But never in his real and serious mood; Then calm, concentrated, and still, and slow He lay coil'd like the boa in the wood; With him it never was a word and blow.

His angry word once o'er, he shed no blood, But in his silence there was much to rue, And his one blow left little work for two.

ALIX.

He ask'd no further questions, and proceeded
On to the house, but by a private way,
So that the few who met him hardly heeded,
So little they expected him that day;
If love paternal in his bosom pleaded

For Haidee's sake, is more than I can say,
But certainly to one, deem'd dead, returning,
This revel seem'd a curious mode of mourning.
L.

If all the dead could now return to life,

(Which God forbid !) or some, or a great many; For instance, if a husband or his wife,

(Nuptial examples are as good as any,) No doubt whate'er might be their former strife, The present weather would be much more rainyTears shed into the grave of the connexion Would share most probably its resurrection.

LI.

He enter'd in the house, no more his home,
A thing to human feelings the most trying,
And harder for the heart to overcome
Perhaps, than even the mental pangs of dying;
To find our hearthstone turn'd into a tomb,

And round its once warm precincts palely lying
The ashes of our hopes, is a deep grief,
Beyond a single gentleman's belief.

LII.

He enter'd in the house-his home no more, For without hearts there is no home-and felt The solitude of passing his own door

Without a welcome; there he long had dwelt, There his few peaceful days Time had swept o'er, There his worn bosom and keen eye would melt Over the innocence of that sweet child, His only shrine of feelings undefiled.

LIII.

He was a man of a strange temperament,
Of mild demeanor though of savage mood,
Moderate in all his habits, and content

With temperance in pleasure, as in food,
Quick to perceive, and strong to bear, and meant
For something better, if not wholly good;
His country's wrongs and his despair to save her
IIad stung him from a slave to an enslaver.

LIV.

The love of power, and rapid gain of gold,
The hardness by long habitude produced,
The dangerous life in which he had grown old,
The mercy he had granted oft abused,
The sights he was accustom'd to behold,

The wild seas and wild men with whom he cruised,
Had cost his enemies a long repentance,
And made him a good friend, but bad acquaintance.

LV.

But something of the spirit of old Greece Flash'd o'er his soul a few heroic rays, such as lit onward to the golden fleece

His predecessors in the Colchian days: Tis true he had no ardent love for peace; Alas! his country show'd no path to praise: Hate to the world and war with every nation He waged, in vengeance of her degredation.

LXIII. These were ranged round, each in its crystal ewer, And fruits and date-bread loaves closed the repast, And Mocha's berry, from Arabia pure,

In small fine China cups, came in at lastGold cups of filigree, made to secure

The hand from burning, underneath them placed; Cloves, cinnamon, and saffron too were boil'd Up with the coffee, which (I think) they spoil'd.

LXIV.

The hangings of the room were tapestry, made
Of velvet pannels, each of different hue,
And thick with damask flowers of silk inlaid:
And round them ran a yellow border too;
The upper border, richly wrought, display'd,
Embroider'd delicately o'er with blue,
ooft Persian sentences, in lilac letters,
From poets, or the moralists their betters.

LXV.

These oriental writings on the wall,

Quite common in those countries, are a kind Of monitors, adapted to recall,

Like skulls at Memphian banquets, to the mind The words which shook Belshazzar in his hall,

And took his kingdom from him.-You will find, Though sages may pour out their wisdom's treasure, There is no sterner moralist than pleasure.

LXVI.

A beauty at the season's close grown hectic,
A genius who has drunk himself to death,
A rake turn'd methodistic or eclectic-

(For that's the name they like to pray beneath)-| But most, an alderman struck apoplectic,

Are things that really take away the breath, And show that late hours, wine and love, are able To do not much less damage than the table.

LXVII.

laidee and Juan carpeted their feet

On crimson satin, border'd with pale blue; Their sofa occupied three parts complete

Of the apartment-and appear'd quite new; The velvet cushions-(for a throne more meet) Were scarlet, from whose glowing centre grew A sun emboss'd in gold, whose rays of tissue, Meridian-like, were seen all light to issue.

LXVIII.

Crystal and marble, plate and porcelain,

Had done their work of splendor, Indian mats And Persian carpets, the heart bled to stain,

Over the floors were spread; gazelles and cats, And dwarfs and blacks, and such like, things that gain Their bread as ministers and favorites-(that's To say, by degradation)-mingled there As plentiful as in a court or fair.

LXIX.

There was no want of lofty mirrors, and
The tables, most of ebony inlaid
With mother-of-pearl or ivory, stood at hand,
Or were of torsoise-shell or rare woods made,
Fretted with gold or silver: by command,

The greater part of these were ready spread With viands, and sherbets in ice, and wineKent fo: all comers, at all hours to dine.

LXX.

Of all the dresses I select Haidee's:

She wore two jelicks-one was of pale yellow; Of azure, pink, and white, was her chemise'Neath which her breast heaved like a little billow With buttons form'd of pearls as large as peas,

All gold and crimson shone her jelick's fellow, And the striped white gauze baracan hat bound her, Like fleecy clouds about the moon, flow'd round her LXXI.

One large gold bracelet clasp'd each lovely arm,
Lockless-so pliable from the pure gold,
That the hand stretch'd and shut it without harm,
The limb which it adorn'd its only mould;
So beautiful-its very shape would charm,
And clinging as if loth to lose its held,
The purest ore inclosed the whitest skin
That e'er by precious metal was held in.*

LXXII.

Around, as princess of her father's land,
A like gold bar, above her instep roll'd,3
Announced her rank: twelve rings were on her hand;
Her hair was starr'd with gems; her veil's fine fold
Below her breast was fasten'd with a band

Of lavish pearls, whose worth could scarce be told;
Her orange silk full Turkish trowsers furl'd
About the prettiest ankle in the world.

LXXIII.

Her hair's long auburn waves down to her heel
Flow'd like an Alpine torrent which the sun
Dyes with his morning light,-and would conceal
Her person if allow'd at large to run;
And still they seem resentfully to feel

The silken fillet's curb, and sought to shun Their bonds whene'er some zephyr caught began To offer his young pinion as her fan

LXXIV.

Round her she made an atmosphere of life, The very air seem'd lighter from her eyes, They were so soft and beautiful, and rife

With all we can imagine of the skies, And pure as Psyche ere she grew a wife

Too pure even for the purest human ties; Her overpowering presence made you feel It would not be idolatry to kneel.

LXXV.

Her eyelashes, though dark as night, were tinged,
(It is the country's custom,) but in vain;
For those large black eyes were so blackly fringed
The glossy rebels mock'd the jetty stain,
And in their native beauty stood avenged:

Her nails were touch'd with henna; but again The power of art was turn'd to nothing, for They could not look more rosy than before.

LXXVI.

The henna should be deeply dyed to make
The skin relieved appear more fairly fair:
She had no need of this-day ne'er will break
On mountain tops more heavenly white than her
The eye might doubt if it were well awake,

She was so like a vision; I might err,
But Shakspeare also says 'tis very silly
"To gild refined gold, or paint the lily "