g ripe too soon.

VI.

NEWS FROM MESCHED.

Down the long street, upon my iron-black steed,
I rode and pondered. Where shall I seek to find
A sweet soul pure as dawn, who to my will shall be
Both malleable and ductile; who can soar
Over the whole earth, or go back in the past?
While yet I mused, lo, up a garden walk,
A lady chased a bird. An empty cage
Stood in the vine-clad cottage-window near.
The bird was like some sweet elusive thought;
The maid, a Sappho, weary with pursuit.
She only glanced my way to see me pass,
Then turned and ran towards me, her large eyes
With gladness scintillant. It was the maid,
Veera. Her hand upon my shoulder, up the walk
We went, my steed following, while her bird,
Tired of his liberty, had found his cage.
Strange news had Veera. Here she lived in peace;
But through the city she had sought me long.
When I was gone from Mesched, and my brothers read
The paper I had written, their wrath rose
Against my tutor whom they deemed the spy.
He, being found asleep beside the king
Who lay dead, to his door they brought
The baseless charge of murder. Through the streets
They sent their criers to proclaim the deed.
So, clamorous for his life, the people came
And dragged him forth, and led him to the block
And slew him. On a spear they set his head,
And placed it high upon the tower above
The eastern gate. The birds pecked at the eyes,
And of the hair made comfortable nests.
The rain beat on it, and the active wind
Crowned it with desert dust. Always the sun
Made salutation to it, flushing it
Until it seemed more ghastly than before.
But after this mad crime the older brother grew
Jealous of him, the younger. One dark morn
They found the last-born lifeless in the street,
Stabbed by a long, sharp poniard in the back.
Misrule followed misrule, and justice fled.
Laws were abolished, and pleasure's lewdest voice
Hawked in the market-place, and through the streets.
Her story done, Veera entreated me
To set my face for Mesched with the dawn.
"Not yet," I said, "not yet." And then I made
Strange passes with my hands, and braced my will,
To sway her will; then with a questioning glance
She passed out to a calm Mesmeric sleep.
So, well I knew that I had found the soul
My purpose needed, and I bade her wake.

VII.

THE MIDNIGHT VISITOR.

I sat and pondered in my room that night
Until the towers and steeples, near and far,
Like sentrie