"Doth she offer to Solomon gifts?" quoth he, on

his ivory throne;

"We are richer than Seba's kingdom! By Allah!" said he, "I will

"That one of my slaves bring hither Queen Balkis’ jewelled seat;

Thereby shall she learn that the glory is ours, and the knowledge and might."

Then Asaf the wise commanded, and a Djin spread his pinions fleet,

And brought the moon-throne thither, and set it before them aright.

In a guarded house she had shut it, which a thousand bowmen kept,

But when she was come to Salem, lo! Solomon the king

Sate there on her own gold seat, and Balkis bowed her and wept,

Saying, “I pray thee, teach me the Name on thy signet ring!

"We have sinned against our souls, following lower lords:

Our kingdom we give, and our goods, and our lives, and pure spirits to thine."

Such worship had he of old who knew Al-Wail's

words

Which rule the rivers, and knew the sound of the

Name Divine.

SIR EDWIN ARNOLD

61

ELIJAH FED BY RAVENS

I Kings xvii. 6

Sore was the famine throughout all the bounds
Of Israel, when Elijah, by command

Of God, journeyed to Cherith's failing brook.
No rain-drop falls; no dew-fraught cloud, at morn
Or closing eve, creeps slowly up the vale;
The withering herbage dies; among the palms,
The shrivell'd leaves send to the summer gale
An autumn's rustle; no sweet songster's lay
Is warbled from the branches; scarce is heard
The rill's faint brawl. The prophet looks around,
And trusts in God, and lays his silvered head
Upon the flowerless bank; serene he sleeps,
Nor wakes till dawning: then, with hands enclasp'd,
And heavenward face, and eyelids closed, he prays
To Him who manna on the desert shower'd,

To Him who from the rock made fountains gush;
Entranced the man of God remains; till, roused
By sound of wheeling wings, with grateful heart,
He sees the ravens fearless by his side

Alight, and leave the heaven-provided food.

JAMES GRAHAME

62

THE SHUNAMMITE

II Kings iv. 18-20

It was a sultry day of summer time;

The sun pour'd down upon the ripen'd grain
With quivering heat, and the suspended leaves
Hung motionless. The cattle on the hills
Stood still, and the divided flock were all
Laying their nostrils to the cooling roots.
And the sky looked like silver, and it seemed
As if the air had fainted, and the pulse

Of nature had run down, and ceased to beat.

Haste thee, my child!" the Syrian mother said, "Thy father is athirst "-and, from the depths Of the cool well under the leaning tree, She drew refreshing water, and with thoughts Of God's sweet goodness stirring at her heart, She blessed her handsome boy, and to his way Committed him. And he went lightly on, With his soft hands pressed closely to the cool Stone vessel, and his little naked feet

Lifted with watchful care; and o'er the hills, And through the light, green hollows, where the lambs

Go for the tender grass, he kept his way,

Wiling its distance with his simple thoughts,
Till, in the wilderness of sheaves, with brows
Throbbing with heat, he set his burden down.

Childhood is restless ever, and the boy
Stayed not within the shadow of the tree,
But with a joyous industry went forth
Into the reapers' places, and bound up
His tiny sheaves, and plaited cunningly
The pliant withes out of the shining straw—
Cheering their labor on, till they forgot
The heat and weariness of their stooping toil
In the beguiling of his playful mirth.
Presently he was silent, and his eye

Closed as with dizzy pain; and with his hand
Pressed hard upon his forehead, and his breast
Heaving with the suppression of a cry,
He utter'd a faint murmur, and fell back
Upon the loosen'd sheaf, insensible.

They bore him to his mother, and he lay
Upon her knees till noon-and then he died.
She had watch'd every breath, and kept her hand
Soft on his forehead, and gazed in upon
The dreamy languor of his listless eye,
And kissed his delicate lip, and lifted him
Into her bosom, till her heart grew strong—
His beauty was so unlike death! She lean'd
Over him now, that she might catch the low
Sweet music of his breath, that she had learned
To love when he was slumbering at her side
In his unconscious infancy-

66

'Tis a soft sleep! How beautiful he lies, With his fair forehead, and the rosy veins.

-So still!

Playing so freshly in his sunny cheek!

How could they say that he would die! O God!

I could not lose him! I have treasured all

His childhood in my heart, and even now,
As he has slept, my memory has been there,
Counting like treasures all his winning ways—
His unforgotten sweetness.-

"Yet so still!

How like this breathless slumber is to death!

I could believe that in that bosom now

There were no pulse-it beats so languidly!
I cannot see it stir; but his red lip!

Death could not be so very beautiful!

And that half-smile-would death have left that there?

-And should I not have felt that he would die?
And have I not wept over him?—and prayed
Morning and night for him?-and could he die?
-No-God will keep him! He will be my pride
Many long years to come, and his fair hair
Will darken like his father's, and his eye
Be of a deeper blue when he is grown;
And he will be so tall, and I shall look
With such a pride upon him!-He to die!"
And the fond mother lifted his soft curls,
And smiled, as if 'twere mockery to think
That such fair things could perish-

-Suddenly

Her hand shrunk from him, and the color fled
From her fix'd lip, and her supporting knees