What attests this consecration? Saw’st thou not the rainbow shedding Its sublime illumination, O’er the wide horizon spreading? Angels up and down are moving, Loudly do their pinions flutter; Breathing music strange and loving, Sweet the melodies they utter. Well the stripling knows the yearning Through his frame that now doth quiver; To that land his footsteps turning, Where the myrtle blooms for ever. THE MOOR’S SERENADE. To my sleeping dear Zuleima’s Bosom run, ye tears all burning! Then will her sweet heart for Abdul ’Gin to beat with tender yearning. Round my sleeping dear Zuleima’s Ear disport, ye tears of anguish! Then will her fair head in vision Sweet for Abdul’s love straight languish. O’er my sleeping dear Zuleima’s Soft hand stream, my heart’s blood gushing! Then will her sweet hand bear on it Abdul’s heart’s blood, crimson flushing. Sorrow is, alas, born voiceless, In its mouth no tongue is growing, It hath only tears and sighing, And blood from the heart’s wounds flowing. DREAM AND LIFE. The day was glowing, my heart, too, glow’d, In silence I bore my sorrow’s load; When night arrived, I hastened then To the blossoming rose in the silent glen. I softly approach’d, and mute as the grave, While tears my cheeks did secretly lave, I peep’d in the cup of the rose so fair, And lo! a bright light was glimmering there. By the rose I joyfully fell asleep, When a sweet mocking dream did over me creep; The form of a rosy maid was reveal’d; A rosy bodice her bosom conceal’d. She gave me soon a rich golden store, To a golden cottage the prize I bore; Strange goings-on in the cottage I found,-- Small elves are dancing in graceful round. Twelve dancers are dancing, and taking no rest, And closely their hands together are press’d; And soon as a dance has come to a close, Another begins, and each merrily goes. And the music they dance to thus sounds in my ear: “The happiest of hours will ne’er reappear, “The whole of thy life was only a dream, “And this hour of pleasure a dream within dream.” The dream is over, the sun is up, I eagerly peep in the rose’s cup. Alas! in the place of the glimmering light, A nasty insect meets my sight. THE LESSON. Mother tells little bee, Yonder wax taper flee; But for his mother’s prayers Little bee little cares. Round the light hovers he, Humming all merrily; Mother’s cry hears not he, Little bee! Little bee! Youthful one! Foolish one! Poor little simpleton! In the flame rusheth he, Little bee! Little bee!