Dost thou love to list the rushing
Of the tempest in its might?
Dost thou joy to see the gushing
Of the torrent at its height?
Hasten forth ere yet the gloaming
Waneth wildly into night,

While the troubled sea is foaming
With a strange phosphoric light.

Lo, the sea-fowl, loudly screaming,
Seeks the shelter of the land;
And a signal light is gleaming

Where yon vessel nears the strand :
Just at sun-set she was lying
All-becalmed upon the main;
Now, with sails in tatters flying,
She to sea-ward beats-in vain!

Hark! the long-unopeued fountains Of the clouds have burst at last; And the echoes of the mountains Lift their wailing voices fast :

Now a thousand rills are pouring

Their far-sounding waterfalls; And the wrathful stream is roaring High above its rocky walls.

Now the forest-trees are shaking,
Like bullrushes in the gale;
And the folded flocks are quaking
'Neath the pelting of the hail.
From the jungle-cumbered river
Comes a growl along the ground;
And the cattle start and shiver,
For they know full well the sound.

'Tis the lion, gaunt with hunger,
Glaring down the darkening glen;
But a fiercer Power and stronger
Drives him back into his den:
For the fiend TORNADO rideth

Forth with FEAR, his maniac bride, Who by shipwrecked shores abideth, With the she-wolf by her side.,

Heard ye not the Demon flapping
His exulting wings aloud?
And his Mate her wild hands clapping
From yon scowling thunder-cloud?
By the fireflaucht's gleamy flashing
The doomed vessel ye may spy,
With the billows o'er her dashing -

Hark (Oh God!) that fearful cry!

Seven hundred human voices

In that shriek came on the blast!

Ha! the Tempest-Fiend rejoices
For all earthly aid is past!

White as smoke the surge is showering
O'er the cliffs that sea-ward frown,
While the greedy gulph, devouring,
Like a dragon sucks them down.

SONNET.

BY ALFRED TENNYSON.

CHECK every outflash, every ruder sally

Of thought and speech; speak low, and give up wholly Thy spirit to mild-minded Melancholy;

This is the place. Through yonder poplar alley, Below, the blue-green river windeth slowly;

But in the middle of the sombre valley,
The crispèd waters whisper musically,
And all the haunted place is dark and holy.
The nightingale, with long and low preamble,
Warbled from youder knoll of solemn larches,
And in and out the woodbine's flowery arches
The summer midges wove their wanton gambol,
And all the white stemmed pinewood slept above –
When in this valley first I told my love.

THE VEILED LADY OF AJMERE.

A Tale of Hindostan.

BY JAMES BAILLIE FRASER.

THE spectacle was over, the pageant at an end. Elephants and camels with all their gay trappings, and the multitude of horses with their glittering riders, were no more seen; the spearmen, and the mace-bearers, and the troops, and all the gleaming satellites of Indian pomp and state, had disappeared; and the scene, which had so lately teemed with life and motion, was abandoned for a while to comparative solitude and repose.

Evening an Indian evening, with all its gorgeous splendor, had succeeded the hot and dusty though brilliant day the sky was pure and serene, save in the western horizon, where the sun had almost set behind a mass of golden clouds. The noble group of mountains which tower over the city of Ajmere, crowned by the rocky and castellated table of Taragush, lay bathed in a rich flood of his departing light, checkered by the shadows of the deep ravines which divided and furrowed them. Beneath, lay the fair lake of Unna-Saugur, like a sea

of liquid gold, veiling with the reflected glories of the western sky the mysterious magnificence that lies hid under its deep waters,* and giving back, instead of those buried palaces, the bright temples and royal pleasure houses, whose pure white marble glowed in the dying beam; while the deep verdure of the mangoe-trees, and the lighter foliage of the graceful tamarind, formed a contrast with these dazzling edifices, on which the eye rested with delight.

The boats that, during the pageant of the day, had flaunted in gilded pomp, with flag and streamer, on the bosom of the lake, still sparkled in the shadow of the massy bundt which restrains the waters at its lower end, and on which the royal palaces are built; and hundreds of the imperial attendants hovered around the august pavillions, like the glittering insects that swarmed in the sunbeams under every tree. Groups of Indian females with their gay draperies and graceful forms, thronging to the shore, performed their ablutions or bore away portions of the clear element, and added a softer interest to the scene. All was in perfect harmony, -all deeply imbued with that peculiar and almost indescribable spell of fairy splendor, of soft-dreaming luxury, which throws its charm over the haunts of Indian pomp, and lends its influence even to the less exalted and commonplace scenery of that bright but degraded land.

* The natives believe that the palace of a mighty rajah, the pillars of which were of gold and silver, and the rest of its materials of a corresponding character, was overwhelmed by this lake, and still lies hid at its bottom.

+ Dam or mound.