Has brought this fresh tribute of beauty.

"In the padishaw's garden there bloometh
In proud Istambul no such blossom;
From the wintry regions she cometh,
Whose memory so lives in thy bosom."

Then the gauzes removes he which shade her,
At her beauty all wonder intensely;
One moment the pasha surveyed her,
Then, dropping his chebouk, without sense lay.

His turban has fallen from his forehead,
To assist him the bystanders started.
His mouth foams, his face blackens horrid,--
See, the Renegade's soul has departed!

AN IMPROMPTU

And darest thou thyself compare
With one who quaffs at Helicon;
Whose playfellows the Muses are,
And whom Apollo calleth son?
Who, had he lived in olden day,
With some fierce host had strode along;
Like Taillefer to Hasting's fray,
Cheering the Normans with his song.

The laurel wreath Apollo gave
I would not change for kingly crown;
A King is but an exalted slave,
Rebellion soon may hurl him down.
But who can force me from the height
Whereto I've soared on Eagle's wing?
I leave to Monarchs ceaseless fright
For what the coming day may bring.

Though poor I be, I've Minstrelsy,
When fortune frowns I'll strike my lyre;
Against the world's inclemency
'Twill warm my soul with heavenly fire.
Then wonder not if proud the air
Of one who's high Apollo's son;
Nor henceforth dare thyself compare
With one who quaffs at Helicon.

A HYMN

O Jesus, Thou Fountain of solace and gladness
Of Heaven's high Three second person divine;
Forgive, O forgive me my blindness and madness,
And guide to Thy kingdom this spirit of mine.

Dearly, O Jesus,
Thou boughtest me,
Yon Friday dark
Upon the tree.

Thy foes were numerous,
Fierce and fell;
Few and weak those
Who wished Thee well.

Nigh stood Thy mother,
Full of fears,
Wringing her hands
And bathed in tears.

Often, O Jesus,
Wilfully
With my great sins
I've tortured Thee.

Causing Thy wounds
To open again,
Waking anew
The ancient pain.

All the kindness
Thou hast display'd,
With black ingratitude
I've repaid.

But Jesus, Creator of earth and of ocean,
Who me, a vile sinner, so dearly didst buy;
My damnable ignorance turn to devotion,
And guide my poor soul to Thy courts in the sky.

THE TRANSFORMED DAMSEL. {25}

My father