Were these, as he stood and prayed,
There is no God but God!

“And he shall be king of men,
For Allah hath heard his prayer,
And the Archangel in the air,
Gabriel, hath said, Amen!"

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

Oxus, the River.

THE TARTAR CAMP.

AND the first gray of morning filled the east,

And the fog rose out of the Oxus stream.

But all the Tartar camp along the stream

Was hushed, and still the men were plunged in sleep:
Sohrab alone, he slept not: all night long
He had lain wakeful, tossing on his bed;
But when the gray dawn stole into his tent,
He rose, and clad himself, and girt his sword,
And took his horseman's cloak, and left his tent,
And went abroad into the cold wet fog,

Through the dim camp to Peran-Wisa's tent.

Through the black Tartar tents he passed, which stood Clustering like bee-hives on the low flat strand Of Oxus, where the summer floods o'erflow When the sun melts the snows in high Pamere: Through the black tents he passed, o'er that low strand, And to a hillock came, a little back

From the stream's brink, the spot where first a boat,
Crossing the stream in summer, scrapes the land.
The men of former times had crowned the top
With a clay fort: but that was fallen; and now
The Tartars built there Peran-Wisa's tent,

A dome of laths, and o'er it felts were spread.

The sun, by this, had risen, and cleared the fog
From the broad Oxus and the glittering sands :
And from their tents the Tartar horsemen filed
Into the open plain; so Haman bade;
Haman, who next to Peran-Wisa ruled

The host, and still was in his lusty prime.
From the black tents, long files of horse, they streamed:
As when, some gray November morn, the files,
In marching order spread, of long-necked cranes,
Stream over Casbin, and the southern slopes
Of Elburz, from the Aralian estuaries,

Or some frore Caspian reed-bed, southward bound
For the warm Persian sea-board: so they streamed.
The Tartars of the Oxus, the King's guard,

First, with black sheep-skin caps and with long spears;
Large men, large steeds, who from Bokhara come
And Khiva, and ferment the milk of mares.
Next the more temperate Toorkmuns of the south,
The Tukas, and the lances of Salore,

And those from Attruck and the Caspian sands;
Light men, and on light steeds, who only drink
The acrid milk of camels, and their wells.
And then a swarm of wandering horse, who came
From far, and more doubtful service owned;
The Tartars of Ferghana, from the banks

Of the Jaxartes, men with scanty beards
And close-set skull-caps; and those wilder hordes
Who roam o'er Kipchak and the northern waste,
Kalmuks and unkemped Kuzzaks, tribes who stray
Nearest the Pole, and wandering Kirghizzes,
Who come on shaggy ponies from Pamere.
These all filed out from camp into the plain.
And on the other side the Persians formed:
First a light cloud of horse, Tartars they seemed,
The Ilyats of Khorassan: and behind,

The royal troops of Persia, horse and foot,
Marshalled battalions bright in burnished steel.

But the majestic river floated on,

Out of the mist and hum of that low land,
Into the frosty starlight, and there moved,
Rejoicing, through the hushed Chorasmian waste,
Under the solitary moon: he flowed

Right for the Polar Star, past Orgunjè,

Brimming and bright and large: then sands begin
To hem his watery march, and dam his streams,
And split his currents; that for many a league
The shorn and parcelled Oxus strains along
Through beds of sand and matted rushy isles
Oxus forgetting the bright speed he had
In his high mountain cradle in Pamere,
A foiled circuitous wanderer; - till at last
The longed-for dash of waves is heard, and wide
His luminous home of waters opens, bright

And tranquil, from whose floor the new-bathed stars
Emerge, and shine upon the Aral Sea.

Matthew Arnold.

H, who Cabul's sweet region may behold,

When Spring laughs out, or Autumn sows her gold,
The meadows, orchards, streams that glide in light,
Nor deem lost Irem charms again his sight,
That wondrous garden rivalling Eden's bloom,
Too blessed for man to view, this side the tomb?
Flowers here, of every scent and form and dye,
Lift their bright heads, and laugh upon the sky,
From the tall tulip with her rich streaked bell,
Where, throned in state, Queen Mab is proud to dwell,
To lowly wind-flowers gaudier plants eclipse,
And pensile harebells with their dewy lips.
There turns the heliotrope to court the sun,
And up green stalks the starry jasmines run:
The hyacinth in tender pink outvies

Beauty's soft cheek, and violets match her eyes;
Sweet breathe the henna-flowers that harem girls

So love to twine among their glossy curls;
And here the purple pansy springs to birth,
Like some gay insect rising from the earth.
One sheet of bloom the level greensward yields,
And simple daisies speak of England's fields;
Drawn by sweet odor's spell, in humming glee,
Flits round the gloomy stock the robber bee,
While to the gorgeous musk-rose, all night long,
The love-sick bulbul pours his melting song;
Then, too, the fruits through months that hang and glow,
Tempting as those which wrought our mother's woe;
Soft shines the mango on its stem so tall,
Rich gleams beneath the melon's golden ball;
How feasts the eye upon the bell-shaped pear!
Bright cherries look like corals strung in air;
The purple plum, the grape the hand may reach,
Vie with the downy-skinned and blushing peach;
Though small, its place the luscious strawberry claims,
Mid snowy flowers the radiant orange flames;
To quench the thirst the cooling guava see,
And ripe pomegranates melting on the tree.
And here, too, England's favorite fruit is seen,
The red-cheeked apple, veiled by leaves of green;
Ah! at the sight sweet thoughts of home awake,
And foreign lands are welcomed for its sake.

Thrice genial clime! O favored, sweet Cabul! Well art thou named the blessed, the beautiful! With snow-peaked hills around thee,-guarding arms! Ah! would thy sons were worthy of thy charms! Nicholas Michell."