And the dome of pearl white and the pinnacles fleckless, Flashed back to the light, like the gems in a necklace. So the Caliph looked forth on the turret-tops gilded; And he said in his pride, "Is my palace not builded? Who is more great than I that his word can avail if My will is my will," said Abdallah the Caliph. But lo with the light he repented his scorning, For an earthquake had shattered the whole ere the morning; Of the pearl-coloured dome there was left but a ruin, But an arch as a home for the ring-dove to coo in. Shaft, turret and spire- all were tumbled and crumbled; And the soul of the Caliph within him was humbled; And he bowed in the dust: great but Allah! "There is none I will build Him a Mosque," said the Caliph Abdallah. And the Caliph has gone to his fathers for ever, But the Mosque that he builded shines still by the river; And the pilgrims up-stream to this day slacken sail if They catch the first gleam of the "Mosque of the Caliph." IN THE BELFRY. WRITTEN UNDER RETHEL'S "" DEATH, THE FRIEND." TOLL! Is it night, or daylight yet? Somewhere the birds seem singing still, Though surely now the sun has set. Toll! But who tolls the Bell once more? He must have climbed the parapet. Who can it be?-the Bernardine, That wont to pray with me of yore? for the monk was not so lean. No, This must be He who, legend saith, Good-bye, old Bell! So let it be. IN MANUS TUAS, DOMINE! ARS VICTRIX. (IMITATED FROM THÉOPHILE GAUTIER.) YES; when the ways oppose — γι When the hard means rebel, Fairer the work out-grows, More potent far the spell. O POET, then, forbear The loosely-sandalled verse, Choose rather thou to wear The buskin strait and terse; Leave to the tiro's hand The limp and shapeless style; See that thy form demand SCULPTOR, do thou discard The yielding clay, — consign To Paros marble hard The beauty of thy line; |