SPEKE HALL.

I have a lovely mountain bower,
Where blooms a gentle Georgian flower;
She was my spear's accustomed prize,
The antelope hath not such eyes.
Now my sweet captive loves her lot,
What has a queen that she has not?
Let her but wish for shawls or pearls,
To bind her brow, to braid her curls;
And I from east to west would fly,
Ere she should ask and I deny.

But those rich merchants must be near,

Away, I cannot linger here;

The vulture hovers o'er his prey,

Come, my good steed-away!-away!

SPEKE HALL.

Он, fair old House-how Time doth honour thee, Giving thee what to-day may never gain,

Of long respect and ancient poesy;

The yew-trees at thy door are black with years,

And filled with memories of those warlike days,

When from each bough was lopped a gallant bow;

For then the yew was what the oak is now,

And what our bowmen were, our sailors are.

How green the ivy grows upon the walls,

Ages have lent their strength to those frail boughs,

A venerable wreath upon the past,

Which here is paramount ;-the past, which is
Imagination's own gigantic realm.

JAHARA BAUG, AGRA.

THE HISTORY OF SHAH DARA'S FLIGHT AND DEATH.

AGRA was Shah Jehan's city of residence. It was from its walls that he witnessed the overthrow of Prince Dara, his eldest son. The Jahara Baug is one of the gardens adjoining the river.

It was the lovely twilight-time went down o'er Agra's towers,
And silent were her marble halls, and tranquil were her bowers;
The crimson colours of the rose were melting on the air,
And from the ivory minarets arose the evening prayer.

The snowy herons to the roofs were flocking for the night,
The columns and the cupolas were bathed in purple light;
And the large lilies on the stream grew fairer in their hue,
As they flung up each silver cup to catch the falling dew.

Filled with the sweet good-night of flowers that sigh themselves to sleep,
Along the quiet river's side, the shadowy gardens sweep;

While fair and pale, like some young girl who pines with early love,

The young moon seems as if she feared to take her place above.

Is there no feasting in those halls? why is that palace mute?

The silvery cadences unheard of the young dancer's foot:

How changed since that glad marriage eve, when with the dance and song
Prince Dara led his cousin-bride, those lighted halls along.

How changed since that imperial day, when at his father's hand,
The eldest-born sat down to share that father's high command;
And the proud nobles of the court drew forth the glittering sword,
In token all were at his will, and waited but his word.

An old man sits upon the walls that guard the eastern side;
"Tis not to hear the wild wind wake the music of the tide :
The rising of the evening star, the perfume from the bough,
The last sweet singing of the doves-all pass unheeded now.

The aged king sits on his tower, and strains his eyes afar,

And asks of every passer by for tidings of the war;

They come he sees the scattered flight of Dara's* broken bands;
At last a fugitive himself—his son before him stands.

* Prince Dara was the favourite son of Shah Jehan, who associated him with himself on the throne. and good fortune, however, of Aurungzebe, the younger brother, turned the scale in his own favour. between the two was long and severe; and the final catastrophe fatal to the unfortunate Dara.

The talents The struggle