"Take them all to your master and tell him to plait

From these black silken tresses new strings for his lute; Their cords 'neath his touch will not cease to vibrate

On those of his heart, till he answers my suit.

"Bid him look on them thus, and recall to his mind, How they were when he used to toy with them of yore :· When he severed but one, which he kissed and entwined Round his finger and mine-while he solemnly swore :

"If ever I part with this dear lock of hair

Or slight you—or love you less dearly than now,
May my bosom be tortured by grief and despair,
And 'Dark Heaven' fail me, if I fail in my vow!"

How potent is Love !-Yang-fei knew its power,
She, a short time before, from the Court had been driven;
Her hair, with the message, had gone scarce an hour,
When he sent in answer, "Come back, you 're forgiven."

K

DREAM MUSIC.

IF 'tis a dream, I pray that I

may never

Again awaken from a scene like this;
If it is real, oh! may it last for ever!
Dreaming or real, in either case 'tis bliss.

This must be heaven, and I, a common mortal,
Stand awe-struck in the midst of these vast halls;
I view the rainbow roof, the glittering portal,
The ambient star-encrusted ether walls.

Roof, walls, and blue and gold mosaic flooring
Seem blent in one-whose ever-changing hues,
Gilded by rays of light from all sides pouring,
Form endless grand kaleidoscopic views.

On a gold throne, whose radiating brightness
Dazzles the eyes—enhaloing the scene;
Sits a fair form, arrayed in snowy whiteness,
She is Chang-o,1 the beauteous Fairy Queen.

Rainbow-winged angels softly hover o'er her,
Forming a canopy above the throne;

A host of fairy beings stand before her,
Each robed in light and girt with meteor zone.

Angelic lips high in mid-air are breathing
Tissues of dulcet sounds, and as they fall,
Voices beneath with these are interwreathing,
And films of golden music fill the hall.

1 Chang-o, a goddess in the Palace of the Moon, in a dream conducts Yang-kuei-fei to the "Great Cool Palace," Kuang-'han-kung, where she listens to fairy music. On her awaking, she immediately sets the music she has dreamed to a song she composes, which she calls "Rainbow-winged Robes." The Emperor gives the music to Li-kuei-nien, so that his singers may practise it. While rehearsing it, a musician, hearing it from the outside of the palace, is struck with its beauty, and notes the music down. Some time after when the capital is taken by rebels and Li has fled, he encounters the man, who is singing this song in the streets for a living.

Its every note is in my bosom sinking,

E'en as parched ground absorbs heaven's genial showers;

'Tis odour-fragrance-incense,-I am drinking

Essence of music dropped from choral flowers.

If 'tis a dream, I pray that I may never
Again awaken from a scene like this ;
If it is real, oh! may it last for ever!
Dreaming or real, in either case 'tis bliss.

THE DEATH OF " YANG-KUEI-FEI.”

IN silence unbroken,

They sat side by side;

Not a word had been spoken :—

They both of them tried

The dread that was o'er them

Of what lay before them

In their bosoms to hide.

What is that? In the distance a murmur is heard,
Is't the wail of the night wind-the surge of the sea?
As nearer it floats it takes form in a word-
And that word, Oh, God! is the name Yang-kuei-fei!
They listen, but speak not-though both know full well
Those murmuring sounds are for one a death-knell.