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 :-"There is none great but Allah!

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."

EMBLEMATA AMORIS.

THE DEATH OF LOVE.

En Mors Amoris !-ran the text; and lo!
I saw that One, on ground of shoot and stem,
Had woven Love, who like a youth did go

In marriage robes, all broidered over them

With crocus-buds and stars-of-Bethlehem.

Thereto (the Worker gone), comes Time in shape,
And envious semblance of a whiskered ape,
That mars the fair design with many a thread;
And for the flowers, puts serpent-heads that gape,
And where Love looked, the features of the Dead.

THE LOVE OF DEATH.

YET one more thing of Love the limner wrought. How that a brood of baby-shapes with wings

Lit among laughing girls, who half-distraught,

Ran here and there to catch those winsome things,
And kiss their eyes, and still their flutterings.
One-only one-sat silent as the dead,

In mourner's weed, and o'er her ashes spread,

Who saw that sight, yet had no joy of it,

But closelier drew her garment to her head.

Above this one was Mortis Amor writ.

"OLD CLO"."

"On revient toujours
À ses premiers amours!"

WHEN I called at the "Hollies " to-day,

In the room with the cedar-wood presses,

Aunt Deb. was just folding away

What she calls her "memorial dresses."

She'd the frock that she wore at fifteen,-Short-waisted, of course-my abhorrence; She'd "the loveliest "-something in "een "

That she wears in her portrait by Lawrence;

She'd the "jelick" she used-" as a Greek," (!)

She'd the habit she got her bad fall in ;

She had e'en the blue moiré antique

That she opened Squire Lavender's ball in :

New and old they were all of them there :-
Sleek velvet and bombazine stately,-

She had hung them each over a chair

To the "paniers" she's taken to lately

(Which she showed me, I think, by mistake).

And I conned o'er the forms and the fashions,

Till the faded old shapes seemed to wake

All the ghosts of my passed-away "passions ;"—

From the days of love's youthfullest dream,

When the height of my shooting idea

Was to burn, like a young Polypheme,

For a somewhat mature Galatea.