hero-march of the stars,--the brief, bright rhyme of the flashing comet,--the canticle of the rose as she bears her crimson heart to the smile of the sun,--the chorus of green leaves chanting orisons to the wind--the never completed epic of heaven's lofty solitudes where the white moon paces, wandering like a maiden in search of love,--all these and other unnumbered joys he has lost--joys that Sah-luma, child of the high gods and favorite of Destiny drinks in with the light and the air." His eyes softened with a dreamy, intense lustre that gave them a new and almost pathetic beauty, while Theos, listening to each word he uttered, wondered whether there were ever any sounds sweeter than the rise and fall of his exquisite voice,--a voice as deliciously clear and mellow as a golden flute tenderly played. "Yes!--though we must laugh at Zabastes we should also pity him,"--he resumed in gayer accents--"His fate is not enviable. He is nothing but a Critic--he could not well be a lesser man,--one who, unable himself to do any great work, takes refuge in finding fault with the works of others. And those who abhor true Poesy are in time themselves abhorred,--the balance of Justice never errs in these things. The Poet wins the whole world's love, and immortal fame,--his adverse Critic, brief contempt, and measureless oblivion. Come,"--he added, addressing Theos--"we will leave these maidens to their duties and pastimes,--Niphrata!" here his dazzling smile flashed like a beam of sunlight over his face--"thou wilt bring us fruit and wine yonder,--we shall pass the afternoon together within doors. Bid my steward prepare the Rose Chamber for my guest, and let Athazel and Zimra attend there to wait upon him." All the maidens saluted, touching their heads with their hands in token of obedience, and Sah-luma leading the way, courteously beckoned Theos to follow. He did so, conscious as he went of two distinct impressions,--first, that the mysterious mental agitation he had suffered from when he had found himself so unexpectedly in a strange city, was not completely dispelled,--and secondly, that he felt as though he must have known Sah-luma all his life! His memory still remained a blank as regarded his past career,--but this fact had ceased to trouble him, and he was perfectly tranquil, and altogether satisfied with his present surroundings. In short, to be in Al-Kyris, seemed to him quite in keeping with the necessary course of events,--while to be the friend and companion of Sah-luma was more natural and familiar to his mind, than all once natural and familiar things. CHAPTER XIII. A POET'S PALACE.