Light breezes will ruffle the flowers sometimes—
The short, passing anger but seemed to awaken
New beauty, like flowers that are sweetest when shaken.
If tenderness touched her, the dark of her eye

At once took a darker, a heavenlier dye,

From the depth of whose shadow, like holy revealings
From innermost shrines, came the light of her feelings!
Then her mirth-oh! 'twas sportive as ever took wing
From the heart with a burst like the wild-bird in spring-
Illumed by a wit that would fascinate sages,

Yet playful as Peris just loosed from their cages.
While her laugh, full of life, without any control
But the sweet one of gracefulness, rung from her soul;
And where it most sparkled no glance could discover,
In lip, cheek, or eyes, for she brightened all over-
Like any fair lake that the breeze is upon,
When it breaks into dimples, and laughs in the sun.

DONNA JULIA.

FROM "DON JUAN," BY LORD BYRON.

HE darkness of her Oriental eye

ΤΗ

Accorded with her Moorish origin;
(Her blood was not all Spanish, by-the-by;
In Spain, you know, this is a sort of sin)
When proud Granada fell, and forced to fly,
Boabdil wept, of Donna Julia's kin
Some went to Africa, some staid in Spain,
Her great-great-grandmamma chose to remain.

Her eye (I'm very fond of handsome eyes)

Was large and dark, suppressing half its fire

Until she spoke, then through its soft disguise

Flashed an expression more of pride than ire,
And love than either; and there would arise

A something in them which was not desire,
But would have been, perhaps, but for the soul
Which struggled through and chastened down the whole.

Her glossy hair was clustered o'er a brow

Bright with intelligence, and fair, and smooth;
Her eyebrow's shape was like the aërial bow,
Her cheek all purple with the beam of youth,
Mounting, at times, to a transparent glow,

As if her veins ran lightning; she, in sooth,
Possessed an air and grace by no means common :
Her stature tall-I hate a dumpy woman.

H

ER eye's dark charm 'twere vain to tell,

But gaze on that of the gazelle,

It will assist the fancy well:

As large, as languishingly dark,

But soul beamed forth in every spark

That darted from beneath the lid,
Bright as the jewel of Giamschid.*

Yea, soul, and should our Prophet say

That form was naught but breathing clay,

* The celebrated fabulous ruby of Sultan Giamschid, the embellisher of Istakhar; from its splendor, named Schebgerag, "The Torch of Night"; also "The Cup of the Sun," etc.

By Allah! I would answer nay;

Though on Al-Sirat's arch I stood,*

Which totters o'er the fiery flood,
With Paradise within my view,
And all his houris beckoning through.
Oh! who young Leila's glance could read
And keep that portion of his creed,
Which saith that woman is but dust,
A soulless toy for tyrant's lust?
On her might muftis gaze, and own

That through her eye the Immortal shone ;
On her fair cheek's unfading hue

The young pomegranate's blossoms strew
Their bloom in blushes ever new :
Her hair in hyacinthine flow,
When left to roll its folds below,
As midst her handmaids in the hall
She stood superior to them all,
Hath swept the marble where her feet
Gleamed whiter than the mountain sleet,
Ere from the cloud that gave it birth
It fell, and caught one stain of earth.
The cygnet nobly walks the water:
So moved on earth Circassia's daughter,
The loveliest bird of Franguestan!

As rears her crest the ruffled swan,

And spurns the wave with wings of pride,

When pass the steps of stranger man

Along the banks that bound her tide;

Thus rose fair Leila's whiter neck

* Al-Sirat, the bridge of breadth less than the thread of a famished spider, over which the Mussulmans must skate into Paradise, to which it is the only entrance.

Thus armed with beauty would she check
Intrusion's glance, till Folly's gaze

Shrunk from the charms it meant to praise.

ZULEIKA.

FROM THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS," BY LORD BYRON.

AIR, as the first that fell of womankind,

FAIR

When on that dread yet lovely serpent smiling, Whose image then was stamped upon her mindBut once beguiled-and evermore beguiling; Dazzling, as that, oh! too transcendent vision

To sorrow's phantom-peopled slumber given, When heart meets heart again in dreams Elysian,

And paints the lost on earth revived in heaven; Soft, as the memory of buried love; Pure, as the prayer which childhood wafts above; Was she-the daughter of that rude old chief, Who met the maid with tears-but not of grief.

Who hath not proved how feebly words essay
To fix one spark of beauty's heavenly ray?
Who doth not feel, until his failing sight
Faints into dimness with its own delight,
His changing cheek, his sinking heart confess

The might-the majesty of loveliness?

Such was Zuleika-such around her shone

The nameless charms unmarked by her alone;

The light of love, the purity of grace,
The mind, the music breathing from her face,

The heart whose softness harmonized the whole-
And, oh! that eye was in itself a soul!

H

HAIDÉE.

FROM "DON JUAN," BY LORD BYRON.

ER brow was overhung with coins of gold,

That sparkled o'er the auburn of her hair, Her clustering hair, whose longer locks were rolled In braids behind; and though her stature were Even of the highest for a female mold,

They nearly reached her heel; and in her air There was a something which bespoke command, As one who was a lady in the land.

Her hair, I said, was auburn; but her eyes

Were black as death, their lashes the same hue, Of downcast length, in whose silk shadow lies Deepest attraction; for when to the view Forth from its raven fringe the full glance flies,

Ne'er with such force the swiftest arrow flew ; 'Tis as the snake late coiled, who pours his length, And hurls at once his venom and his strength.

Her brow was white and low, her cheek's pure dye
Like twilight rosy still with the set sun;

Short upper lip-sweet lips! that make us sigh
Ever to have seen such; for she was one

Fit for the model of a statuary,

(A race of mere impostors, when all's doneI've seen much finer women, ripe and real, Than all the nonsense of their stone ideal.)

And such was she, the lady of the cave:

Her dress was very different from the Spanish, Simpler, and yet of colors not so grave;