Listening to the gray-haired crones,
Foolish gossips, ancient drones,
Saadi, see! they rise in stature
To the height of mighty Nature,
And the secret stands revealed
Fraudulent Time in vain concealed,-
That blessed gods in servile masks
Plied for thee thy household tasks.”

HOLIDAYS.

FROM fall to spring the russet acorn,
Fruit beloved of maid and boy,

Lent itself beneath the forest,

To be the children's toy.

Pluck it now! In vain,-thou canst not; Its root has pierced yon shady mound; Toy no longer-it has duties;

It is anchored in the ground.

Year by year the rose-lipped maiden,
Playfellow of young and old,
Was frolic sunshine, dear to all men,

More dear to one than mines of gold.

Whither went the lovely hoyden?
Disappeared in blessed wife;

Servant to a wooden cradle,
Living in a baby's life.

Still thou playest;-short vacation
Fate grants each to stand aside;
Now must thou be man and artist,-

'Tis the turning of the tide.

PAINTING AND SCULPTURE.

THE sinful painter drapes his goddess warm,
Because she still is naked, being dressed :
The godlike sculptor will not so deform

Beauty, which limbs and flesh enough invest.

FROM THE PERSIAN OF HAFIZ.

The poems of Hafiz are held by the Persians to be allegoric and mystical. His German editor, Von Hammer, remarks on the following poem, that, "though in appearance anacreontic, it may be regarded as one of the best of those compositions which earned for Hafiz the honourable title of 'Tongue of the Secret.'

BUTLER, fetch the ruby wine

Which with sudden greatness fills us;

Pour for me, who in

my spirit

Fail in courage and performance;
Bring this philosophic stone,
Karun's treasure, Noah's age;
Haste, that by thy means I open
All the doors of luck and life.
Bring to me the liquid fire
Zoroaster sought in dust:
To Hafiz, revelling, 'tis allowed
To pray to Matter and to Fire.
Bring the wine of Jamschid's glass,

Which glowed, ere time was, in the Néant;
Bring it me, that through its force
I, as Jamschid, see through worlds.
Wisely said the Kaisar Jamschid,

"The world's not worth a barleycorn :"
Let flute and lyre lordly speak;
Lees of wine outvalue crowns.

Bring me, boy, the veiled beauty,
Who in ill-famed houses sits :
Bring her forth; my honest name
Freely barter I for wine.

Bring me, boy, the fire-water ;-
Drinks the lion, the woods burn;

Give it me, that I storm heaven,
And tear the net from the archwolf.
Wine wherewith the Houris teach
Souls the ways of paradise!

On the living coals I'll set it,

And therewith my brain perfume.

Bring me wine, through whose effulgence Jam and Chosroes yielded light;

Wine, that to the flute I sing

Where is Jam, and where is Kauss.

Bring the blessing of old times,—

Bless the old, departed shahs!

Bring me wine which spendeth lordship,
Wine whose pureness searcheth hearts;
Bring it me, the shah of hearts!
Give me wine to wash me clean
Of the weather-stains of cares,
See the countenance of luck.
Whilst I dwell in spirit-gardens,
Wherefore stand I shackled here?
Lo, this mirror shows me all !