And he feasted with his friends,

And when they were warm with wine, He said: "O friends of mine,

Behold what fortune sends,

And what the fates design!

King Amurath commands

Then to the Castle White
He rode in regal state,
And entered in at the gate
In all his arms bedight,
And gave to the Pasha

Who ruled in Croia

The writing of the King,
Sealed with his signet ring.
And the Pasha bowed his head,

And after a silence, said:
"Allah is just and great!

I yield to the will divine,
The city and lands are thine;
Who shall contend with fate?"

Anon from the castle walls

The crescent banner falls,

And the crowd beholds instead,

Like a portent in the sky,
Iskander's banner fly,

The Black Eagle with double head;
And a shout ascends on high,

For men's souls are tired of the Turks,
And their wicked ways and works,

That have made of Ak-Hissar

A city of the plague ;

And the loud, exultant cry

That echoes wide and far

Is: "Long live Scanderbeg!"

It was thus Iskander came

Once more unto his own;

And the tidings, like the flame
Of a conflagration blown

By the winds of summer, ran,
Till the land was in a blaze,
And the cities far and near,

Sayeth Ben Joshua Ben Meir,

In his Book of the Words of the Days,

"Were taken as a man

Would take the tip of his ear."

CADENABBIA.

No sound of wheels or hoof-beat breaks
The silence of the summer day

As by the loveliest of all lakes
I while the idle hours away.

I pace the leafy colonnade,

Where level branches of the plane Above me weave a roof of shade Impervious to the sun and rain.

At times a sudden rush of air
Flutters the lazy leaves o'erhead,
And gleams of sunshine toss and flare
Like torches down the path I tread.

By Somariva's garden gate

I make the marble stairs my seat;

I hear the water as I wait

Lapping the steps beneath my feet.

The undulation sinks and swells

Along the stony parapets, And far away the floating bells

Tinkle upon the fisher's nets.

Silent and slow, by tower and town,

The freighted barges come and go, Their pendant shadows gliding down By town and tower submerged below.

The hills sweep upward from the shore, With villas scattered one by one Upon their wooded spurs, and lower Bellagio blazing in the sun.

And dimly seen, a tangled mass

Of walls and woods of light and shade,

Stands beckoning up the Stelvio Pass
Varenna with its white cascade.

I ask myself, Is this a dream?
Will it all vanish into air?
Is there a land of such supreme
And perfect beauty anywhere?

Sweet vision! Do not fade away;
Linger until my heart shall take

Into itself the summer day,

And all the beauty of the lake.

Linger until upon my brain

Is stamped an image of the scene; Then fade into the air again

And be as if thou had'st not been.

KÉRAMOS.

Turn, turn, my wheel! Turn round and round Without a pause, without a sound:

So spins the flying world away!

This clay, well mixed with marl and sand,
Follows the motion of my hand;

For some must follow and some command,
Though all are made of clay!

Thus sang the Potter at his task
Beneath the blossoming hawthorn-tree,
While o'er his features, like a mask,
The quilted sunshine and leaf shade

Moved, as the boughs above him swayed,
And clothed him, till he seemed to be

A figure woven in tapestry,

So sumptuously was he arrayed

In that magnificent attire

Of sable tissue flaked with fire.
Like a magician he appeared,
A conjuror without book or beard;
And while he plied his magic art—
For it was magical to me—

I stood in silence and apart,

And wondered more and more to see