t of the bower,
Is it thy gentle task when others sleep,
To guard all that a fallen world may keep
Of pristine bliss and lost felicities,
The fragrant memory of a purer hour,
The healing aroma of Paradise?"

Sweet then the blushing maid replied,
"Among the roses I abide,
I wake the bird, I watch the bee,
No greater toil is set for me;
But tell me, pray thee, with what charge indued
You wander in this quiet solitude."

And Atma spoke with joyful fervency,
"I hither came on embassy unguessed,
Most blissful vision of my raptured view,
The dusk delights of quietness and rest
Desired I, nor thought to bid adieu
To all content my fond heart ever knew.

Descending angels of my wisest dreams,
Ye kindly genii, bending from above,
Say, in th'allotment of my life's high themes,
Were hours left for love?
A great design and just my soul employs,
Can high resolve and tranced rest agree?
Or is there aught than loss in changeful joys
Of mortal love, most mortal in its wane
Which I shall see
And call aloud, 'O Love,' in vain, in vain."

"Bloomy roses die,
Sunbeams have no morrow,
Sweetest songs give place to sigh,
Ah, the speechless sorrow,
Pain of by-and-bye.

I too well have known
Gladness lives a-dying,
Joys are often prized when flown,
Loved when past replying,
Sought when left alone.

Sad when roses pine,
Ah, but love is dearer,
Who would dare to quaff this wine
Knowing Fate the bearer,
Guileful fate of mine?

Moti, peerless flower,
Queen of love and gladness,
Tell me in this happy hour,
Will Joy turn to sadness,
And Love's death-night lower?"

Moti, wise as lovely, pondered,
"'Mong the sunbeams I have wandered,
With the flowers friendship made;
Sweetest blossoms wither,

But alike they fade,
Roses die together,
Beauteous death is made.

Comrades e'en in death are flowers,
Always sweet are friendship's bowers.

Lightly sorrow touches twain,
Only solitude is pain."

* * * * *

Mild were the utterings of the cooing dove,
Who did approve
In myrtle ambuscade