"Precepts?" "Have on each compassion:" "Lead the stranger to your door:" "In your dealings keep up justice:" "Give a tenth unto the poor." "Yet ambitious!" Yes! ambitious--while he heard the calm and sweet Aiden-voices sing--to trample troubled Hell beneath his feet. "Islam?" Yes! "Submit to Heaven!" "Prophet?" To the East thou art! What are prophets but the trumpets blown by God to stir the heart? And the great heart of the desert stirred unto that solemn strain, Rolling from the trump at Hara over Error's troubled main. And a hundred dusky millions honor still El Amin's rod-- Daily chanting--"Allah Akbar! know there is no god but God!" Call him then no more "Impostor." Mecca is the Choral Gate Where, till Zion's noon shall take them, nations in her morning wait. Mr. Wallace has published a few songs. They have not the stately movement of his other pieces, and the one which follows needs the application of the file; but it is, like the others, very spirited: AVELINE. ----The sunny eyes of the maiden fair Give answer better than voice or pen That as he loves he is loved again.--C. C. LEEDS. Love me dearly, love me dearly with your heart and with your eyes; Whisper all your sweet emotions, as they gushing, blushing rise; Throw your soft white arms about me; Say you cannot live without me: Say, you are my Aveline; say, that you are only mine, That you cannot live without me, young and rosy Aveline! Love me dearly, dearly, dearly: speak you love-words silver-clearly, So I may not doubt thus early of your fondness, of your truth. Press, oh! press your throbbing bosom closely, warmly to my own: Fix your kindled eyes on mine--say you live for me alone, While I fix my eyes on thine, Lovely, trusting, artless, plighted; plighted, rosy Aveline! Love me dearly; love me dearly: radiant dawn upon my gloom: Ravish me with Beauty's bloom:-- Tell me "Life has yet a glory: 'tis not all an idle story!" As a gladdened vale in noonlight; as a weary lake in moonlight, Let me in thy love recline: Show me life has yet a splendor in my tender Aveline. Love me dearly, dearly, dearly with your heart and with your eyes: Whisper all your sweet emotions as they gushing, blushing rise. Throw your soft white arms around me; say you _lived not_ till you found me-- Say it, say it, Aveline! whisper you are only mine; That you cannot live without me, as you throw your arms about me, That you _cannot_ live without me, artless, rosy Aveline! Our limits will not permit us to quote any of the remaining poems of this volume in full, and we conclude our extracts with a few passages penciled while in a hasty reading. In the piece entitled The Kings of Sorrow, the poet sings: