The poorest that were most in need of what the lady did,

Deem her a blessed creature born to rescue men

forbid :

He that had said they could have died for her beloved sake,

Had rated low the thanks of woe.

́not old Heart-ache.

Death frights

Sweet saint! No shameless brow was hers, who could not bear to see,

For thinking of her happier lot, the pine of poverty:

No unaccustom'd deed she did, in scorn of custom's

self,

She that but wish'd the daily bread upon the poor man's shelf.

Naked she went, to clothe the naked. New she was, and bold,

Only because she held the laws which Mercy preach'd of old.

They say she blush'd to be beheld, e'en of her ladies' eyes;

Then took her way with downward look, and brief, bewilder'd sighs.

A downward look; a beating heart; a sense of the new, vast,

Wide, open, naked world, and yet of every door she pass'd;

A pray'r, a tear, a constant mind, a listening ear that glow'd,

These we may dare to fancy there, on that religious road.

But who shall blind his heart with more? Who dare, with lavish guess,

Refuse the grace she hoped of us, in her divine distress?

In fancy still she holds her way, forever pacing

on,

The sight unseen, the guiltless Eve, the shame unbreath'd upon;

The step, that upon Duty's ear is growing more and more,

Though yet, alas! it hath to pass by many a scorner's door.

JAFFAR

INSCRIBED TO THE MEMORY OF SHELLEY.

SHELLEY, take this to thy dear memory
To praise the generous, is to think of thee.

Jaffàr, the Barmecide, the good Vizier, The poor man's hope, the friend without a peer, Jaffar was dead, slain by a doom unjust; And guilty Haroun, sullen with mistrust Of what the good and e'en the bad might say, Ordain'd that no man living from that day Should dare to speak his name on pain of death.All Araby and Persia held their breath.

All but the brave Mondeer.-He, proud to show
How far for love a grateful soul could go,
And facing death for very scorn and grief
(For his great heart wanted a great relief,)
Stood forth in Bagdad, daily, in the square
Where once had stood a happy house; and there
Harangued the tremblers at the scymitar
On all they owed to the divine Jaffàr.

Bring me this man," the caliph cried. The nian Was brought-was gaz'd upon. The mutes began To bind his arms. "Welcome, brave cords!" cried he;

"From bonds far worse Jaffàr deliver'd me;

From wants, from shames, from loveless household fears;

Made a man's eyes friends with delicious tears;
Restor❜d me-lov'd me-put me on a par
With his great self. How can I pay Jaffàr?"

Haroun, who felt, that on a soul like this
The mightiest vengeance could but fall amiss,
Now deign'd to smile, as one great lord of fate
Might smile upon another half as great.

He said, "Let worth grow frenzied, if it will;
The caliph's judgment shall be master still.
Go: and since gifts thus move thee, take this gem,
The richest in the Tartar's diadem,

And hold the giver as thou deemest fit."

"Gifts!" cried the friend. He took; and holding it

High tow'rds the heavens, as though to meet his

star,

Exclaim'd "This, too, I owe to thee, Jaffàr!"

THE BITTER GOURD.25

LOKMAN the Wise, therefore the Good (for wise
Is but sage good, seeing with final eyes),
Was slave once to a lord, jealous though kind,
Who, piqued sometimes at the man's master mind,
Gave him, one day, to see how he would treat
So strange a grace, a bitter gourd to eat.

With simplest reverence, and no surprise, 299 The sage receiv'd what stretch'd the donor's eyes; And, piece by piece, as though it had been food To feast and gloat on, every morsel chew'd; And so stood eating, with his patient beard, Till all the nauseous favour disappear'd.

Vex'd, and confounded, and dispos'd to find Some ground of scorn, on which to ease his mind, "Lokman!" exclaim'd his master," In God's

name,

Where could the veriest slave get soul so tame?
Have all my favours been bestow'd amiss?

Or could not brains like thine have saved thee this?"

Calmly stood Lokman still, as duty stands.-
"Have I receiv'd," he answered, "at thine hands
Favours so sweet they went to mine heart's root,
And could I not accept one bitter fruit ?

وو

"O Lokman!" said his lord (and as he spoke, For very love his words in softness broke), "Take but this favour yet:-be slave no more :Be, as thou art, my friend and counsellor: Oh be; nor let me quit thee, self-abhorr'd ;'Tis I that am the slave, and thou the lord.”

THE INEVITABLE.

INSCRIBED TO JOHN FORSTER.

FORSTER, whose voice can speak of awe so well, And stern disclosures, new and terrible,

This were a tale, my friend, for thee to tell.

Seek for it then in some old book; but take
Meantime this version, for the writer's sake.

The royal sage, lord of the Magic Ring,
Solomon, once upon a morn in spring,
By Cedron, in his garden's rosiest walk,
Was pacing with a pleasant guest in talk,
When they beheld, approaching, but with face
Yet undiscern'd, a stranger in the place.

How he came there, what wanted, who could be,
How dare, unusher'd, beard such privacy,
Whether 'twas some great Spirit of the Ring,
And if so, why he should thus daunt the king
(For the ring's master, after one sharp gaze,
Stood waiting, more in trouble than amaze),
All this the courtier would have ask'd; but fear
Palsied his utterance, as the man drew near.

The stranger seem'd (to judge him by his dress)

One of mean sort, a dweller with distress,
Or some poor pilgrim; but the steps he took
Belied it with strange greatness; and his look
Open'd a page in a tremendous book.

He wore a cowl, from under which there shone,
Full on the guest, and on the guest alone,
A face, not of this earth, half veil'd in gloom
And radiance, but with eyes like lamps of doom,
Which, ever as they came, before them sent
Rebuke, and staggering, and astonishment,
With sense of change, and worse of change to be,
Sore sighing, and extreme anxiety,

And feebleness, and faintness, and moist brow,
The past a scoff, the future crying "Now!"
All that makes wet the pores, and lifts the hair;