Yet again to the Caliph bent Seyd the vizier :

"Who shall reason or rail if my Lord speaketh clear? Who shall strive with his might? Let my Lord live for

ever!

He shall choose him a site by the side of the river."

Then the Caliph sent forth unto Kür, unto Yemen,—
To the South, to the North,-for the skilfullest freemen;
And soon, in a close, where the river breeze fanned it,
The basement uprose, as the Caliph had planned it.

Now the courses were laid and the corner-piece fitted; And the butments and set-stones were shapen and knitted, When lo! on a sudden the Caliph heard frowning,

That the river had swelled, and the workmen were drowning.

Then the Caliph was stirred and he flushed in his ire as He sent forth his word from Teheran to Shiraz;

And the workmen came new, and the palace, built faster, From the bases up-grew unto arch and pilaster.

And the groinings were traced, and the arch-heads were chasen,

When lo! in hot haste there came flying a mason,
For a cupola fallen had whelmed half the workmen ;
And Hamet the chief had been slain by the Turc'men.

Then the Caliph's beard curled, and he foamed in his rage

as

Once more his scouts whirled from the Tell to the Hedjaz; "Is my word not my word?" cried the Caliph Abdallah; "I will build it up yet by the aiding of Allah!"

Though he spoke in his haste like King David before him, Yet he felt as he spoke that a something stole o'er him ; And his soul grew as glass, and his anger passed from it As the vapours that pass from the Pool of Mahomet.

And the doom seemed to hang on the palace no longer,
Like a fountain it sprang when the sources feed stronger;
Shaft, turret and spire leaped upward, diminished,
Like the flames of a fire,―till the palace was finished!

Without price, without flaw. And it lay on the azure
Like a diadem dropped from an emperor's treasure;
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 :-"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."

IN THE BELFRY.

WRITTEN UNDER RETHEL'S "DEATH, THE FRIEND."

TOLL!

OLL! 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.
Did I not bar the belfry door?

Who can it be?-the Bernardine,
That used to pray with me of yore?
No,-for the monk was not so lean.

This must be He who, legend saith,
Comes sometimes with a kindlier mien
And tolls a knell.-This shape is Death!

Good-bye, old Bell! So let it be.
How strangely now I draw my breath!
What is this haze of light I see? ...

IN MANUS TUAs, Domine!

ARS VICTRIX.

(IMITATED FROM THÉOPHILE Gautier.)

YES; when the ways oppose—
When the hard means rebel,

YES;

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
The labour of the file.

Sculptor, do thou discard

The yielding clay,-consign
To Paros marble hard
The beauty of thy line ;-

Model thy Satyr's face
For bronze of Syracuse ;