A princely group of England's noble daughters Stood in a balcony suffused with grief, Diffusing fragrance round them, of strong waters, And waving many a snowy handkerchief; Then glowed the prince of highwayman and thief! His soul was touched with a seraphic gleam-- That woman could be false was but a mocking dream. And now, his bright career of triumph ended, His chariot stood beneath the triple tree. The law's grim finisher to its boughs ascended, And fixed the hempen bandages, while he Bowed to the throng, then bade the cart go free. The car rolled on, and left him dangling there, Like famed Mohammed's tomb, uphung midway in air. As droops the cup of the surcharged lily Beneath the buffets of the surly storm, Or the soft petals of the daffodilly, When Sirius is uncomfortably warm, So drooped his head upon his manly form, While floated in the breeze his tresses brown. He hung the stated time, and then they cut him down. With soft and tender care the trainbands bore him, Just as they found him, nightcap, robe, and all, And placed this neat though plain inscription o'er him, Among the atomies in Surgeons' Hall: "THESE ARE THE BONES OF THE RENOWNED DUVAL!" There still they tell us, from their glassy case, He was the last, the best of all that noble race! Eastern Serenade. BY THE HONOURABLE SINJIN MUFF. The minarets wave on the plain of Stamboul, And the breeze of the evening blows freshly and cool; The voice of the musnud is heard from the west, And kaftan and kalpac have gone to their rest. The notes of the kislar re-echo no more, And the waves of Al Sirat fall light on the shore. Where art thou, my beauty; where art thou, my bride? Oh, come and repose by thy dragoman's side! I wait for thee still by the flowery tophaik-- I have broken my Eblis for Zuleima's sake. But the heart that adores thee is faithful and true, Though it beats 'neath the folds of a Greek Allah-hu! Oh, wake thee, my dearest! the muftis are still, And the tschocadars sleep on the Franguestan hill; No sullen aleikoum--no derveesh is here, And the mosques are all watching by lonely Kashmere! Oh, come in the gush of thy beauty so full, I have waited for thee, my adored attar-gul! I see thee--I hear thee--thy antelope foot Treads lightly and soft on the velvet cheroot; The jewelled amaun of thy zemzem is bare, And the folds of thy palampore wave in the air. Come, rest on the bosom that loves thee so well, My dove! my phingari! my gentle gazelle! Nay, tremble not, dearest! I feel thy heart throb, 'Neath the sheltering shroud of thy snowy kiebaub; Lo, there shines Muezzin, the beautiful star! Thy lover is with thee, and danger afar: Say, is it the glance of the haughty vizier, Or the bark of the distant effendi, you fear?