In the rich West begun to wither;
When, o'er the vale of BALBEC winging
Slowly, she sees a child at play,
Among the rosy wild flow'rs singing,
As rosy and as wild as they;
Chasing, with eager hands and eyes,
The beautiful blue damsel-flies,
That flutter'd round the jasmine stems,
Like winged flow'rs or flying gems:
And, near the boy, tir'd with play
Now nestling 'mid the roses lay,
She saw a wearied man dismount

From his hot steed, and on the brink
Of a small imaret's rustic fount
Impatient fling him down to drink.
Then swift his haggard brow he turn'd
To the fair child, who fearless sat,
Though never yet hath day-beam burn'd
Upon a brow more fierce than that, —
Sullenly fierce a mixture dire,
Like thunder-clouds, of gloom and fire;
In which the PERI's eyes could read
Dark tales of many a ruthless deed;
The ruin'd maid the shrine profan'd-
Oaths broken- and the threshold stain'd
With blood of guests! - there written, all,
Black as the damning drops that fall
From the denouncing Angel's pen,
Ere Mercy weeps them out again.

Yet tranquil now that man of crime
(As if the balmy evening time
Soften'd his spirit) look'd and lay,
Watching the rosy infant's play :-
Though still, whene'er his eye by chance
Fell on the boy's, its lurid glance

Met that unclouded, joyous gaze,
As torches, that have burnt all night
Through some impure and godless rite,

Encounter morning's glorious rays.
But, hark! the vesper call to pray'r,
As slow the orb of daylight sets,
Is rising sweetly on the air,

From SYRIA's thousand minarets!
The boy has started from the bed
Of flow'rs, where he had laid his head,
And down upon the fragrant sod

Kneels, with his forehead to the south,
Lisping th' eternal name of God

From Purity's own cherub mouth.
And looking, while his hands and eyes
Are lifted to the glowing skies,
Like a stray babe of Paradise,
Just lighted on that flow'ry plain,

And seeking for its home again.

Oh! 'twas a sight that Heav'n- that child

A scene, which might have well beguil'd

Ev'n haughty EBLIS of a sigh

For glories lost and peace gone by.

And how felt he, the wretched Man
Reclining there while memory ran
O'er many a year of guilt and strife;
Flew o'er the dark flood of his life,
Nor found one sunny resting-place,

Nor brought him back one branch of grace.
"There was a time," he said, in mild,
Heart-humbled tones - "thou blessed child!
When, young and haply pure as thou,
I look'd and pray'd like thee but now
He hung his head each nobler aim,

-

And hope, and feeling, which had slept
From boyhood's hour, that instant came
Fresh o'er him, and he wept - he wept!

Blest tears of soul-felt penitence!
In whose benign, redeeming flow

Is felt the first, the only sense

Of guiltless joy that guilt can know.

"There's a drop," said the PERI, "that down from the

moon

Falls through the withering airs of June
Upon EGYPT's land, of so healing a pow'r,
So balmy a virtue, that ev'n in the hour
That drop descends, contagion dies,
And health reanimates earth and skies! -
Oh, is it not thus, thou man of sin,
The precious tears of repentance fall?
Though foul thy fiery plagues within,
One heavenly drop hath dispell'd them all!"

And now behold him kneeling there
By the child's side in humble pray'r,
While the same sunbeam shines upon
The guilty and the guiltless one,

And hymns of joy proclaim through Heav'n
The triumph of a Soul Forgiv'n!

'Twas when the golden orb had set
While on their knees they linger'd yet
There fell a light more lovely far
Than ever came from sun or star,
Upon the tear that, warm and meek,
Dew'd that repentant sinner's cheek.
To mortal eye this light might seem
A northern flash or meteor beam-
But well th' enraptur'd PERI knew
'Twas a bright smile the Angel threw
From Heaven's gate, to hail that tear
Her harbinger of glory near!

"Joy, joy forever! my task is done -
The gates are pass'd and Heav'n is won!
Oh! am I not happy? I am, I am -

To thee, sweet Eden! how dark and sad
Are the diamond turrets of SHADUKIAM,
And the fragrant bowers of AMBERABAD!
"Farewell, ye odors of Earth, that die
Passing away like a lover's sigh; --

My feast is now of the Tooba Tree,
Whose scent is the breath of Eternity!

"Farewell, ye vanishing flowers, that shone
In my fairy wreath, so bright and brief;-
Oh! what are the brightest that e'er have blown,
To the lote tree, springing by ALLA's throne,
Whose flow'rs have a soul in every leaf.
Joy, joy, forever! my task is done -
The Gates are pass'd, and Heav'n is won!"

SIR THOMAS MORE

SIR THOMAS MORE, an English author and statesman of great intellectual gifts and noble character. Born in London, February 7, 1478; died July 6, 1535. He became Lord Chancellor, and was put to death by Henry VIII. Author of "Utopia," an imaginary and ideal kingdom in the sea, the laws and customs of which were portrayed as models for a properly governed State, and hence as being worthy of imitation and adoption in England. It was translated into many languages, and was greatly admired. Its name has given to our language the adjective "Utopian," signifying something ideal but impracticable.

(From "UTOPIA")

OF THEIR TRADES AND MANNER OF LIFE

"AGRICULTURE is that which is so universally understood among them that no person, either man or woman, is ignorant of it; they are instructed in it from their childhood, partly by what they learn at school and partly by practice, they being led out often into the fields about the town, where they not only see others at work, but are likewise exercised in it themselves. Besides agriculture, which is so common to them all, every man has some peculiar trade to which he applies himself; such as the manufacture of wool or flax, masonry, smith's work, or carpenter's work; for there is no sort of trade that is

in great esteem among them. Throughout the island they wear the same sort of clothes, without any other distinction except what is necessary to distinguish the two sexes and the married and unmarried. The fashion never alters, and as it is neither disagreeable nor uneasy, so it is suited to the climate, and calculated both for their summers and winters. Every family makes their own clothes; but all among them, women as well as men, learn one or other of the trades formerly mentioned. Women, for the most part, deal in wool and flax, which suit best with their weakness, leaving the ruder trades to the men. The same trade generally passes down from father to son, inclinations often following descent; but if any man's genius lies another way he is, by adoption, translated into a family that deals in the trade to which he is inclined; and when that is to be done, care is taken, not only by his father, but by the magistrate, that he may be put to a discreet and good man; and if, after a person has learned one trade, he desires to acquire another, that is also allowed, and is managed in the same manner as the former. When he has learned both, he follows that which he likes best, unless the public has more occasion for the other.

"The chief and almost the only business of the Syphogrants is to take care that no man may live idle, but that every one may follow his trade diligently; yet they do not wear themselves out with perpetual toil from morning to night, as if they were beasts of burden, which as it is indeed a heavy slavery, so it is everywhere the common course of life amongst all mechanics except the Utopians: but they, dividing the day and night into twenty-four hours, appoint six of these for work, three of which are before dinner and three after; they then sup, and at eight o'clock, counting from noon, go to bed and sleep eight hours; the rest of their time, besides that taken up in work, eating and sleeping, is left to every man's discretion; yet they are not to abuse that interval to luxury and idleness, but must employ it in some proper exercise, according to their various inclinations, which is, for the most part, reading. It is ordinary to have public lectures every morning before daybreak, at which none are obliged to appear but those who are marked out for literature; yet a great many, both men and