Save where the rains have wash'd the gathered sand And bared the scanty fragments to our view, (As the dust sprinkled on a punctur'd hand Bids the faint tints resume their azure hue). No mossy record of those once lov'd seats Points out the mansion to inquiring eyes; No tottering wall, in echoing sounds, repeats Our mournful questions and our bursting sighs. Yet, midst those ruin'd heaps, that naked plain, Can faithful memory former scenes restore, Recall the busy throng, the jocund train, And picture all that charm'd us there before. Ne'e shall my heart the fatal morn forget That bore the fair ones from these seats so dear-- I see, I see the crowding litters yet, And yet the tent-poles rattle in my ear. I see the maids with timid steps descend, The streamers wave in all their painted pride, The floating curtains every fold extend, And vainly strive the charms within to hide. What graceful forms those envious folds enclose! What melting glances thro' those curtains play! Sure Weira's antelopes, or Tudah's roes Thro' yonder veils their sportive young survey! The band mov'd on--to trace their steps I strove, I saw them urge the camel's hastening flight, Till the white vapor, like a rising grove, Snatch'd them forever from my aching sight. Nor since that morn have I Nawara seen, The bands are burst which held us once so fast, Memory but tells me that such things have been, And sad Reflection adds, that they are past. _Lebid Ben Rabiat Alamary_. [1] The author of this poem was a native of Yemen. He was contemporary with Mohammed and was already celebrated as a poet when the prophet began to promulgate his doctrines. Lebid embraced Islamism and was one of the most aggressive helpers in its establishment. He fixed his abode in the city of Cufa, where he died at a very advanced age. This elegy, as is evident, was written previous to Lebid's conversion to Islamism. Its subject is one that must be ever interesting to the feeling mind--the return of a person after a long absence to the place of his birth--in fact it is the Arabian "Deserted Village." THE TOMB OF MANO Friends of my heart, who share my sighs! Go seek the turf where Mano lies, And woo the dewy clouds of spring, To sweep it with prolific wing. Within that cell, beneath that heap, Friendship and Truth and Honor sleep, Beneficence, that used to clasp The world within her ample grasp. There rests entomb'd--of thought bereft-- For were one conscious atom left New bliss, new kindness to display, 'Twould burst the grave, and seek the day. But tho' in dust thy relics lie, Thy virtues, Mano, ne'er shall die; Tho' Nile's full stream be seen no more, That spread his waves from shore to shore, Still in the verdure of the plain His vivifying smiles remain. _Hassan Alasady_. TOMB OF SAYID[2]