"

[3] Referring to the custom of throwing small coins among
crowds in the street on the occasion of a wedding. A
dirham is a coin nearly equal in value to sixpence of
our money.

But it would be difficult to adduce from the writings of any poet,
European or Asiatic, anything to excel the charming ode on spring, by
the Turkish poet Mesihi, who flourished in the 15th century, which has
been rendered into graceful English verse, and in the measure of the
original, by my friend Mr. E. J. W. Gibb, in his dainty volume of
_Ottoman Poems_, published in London a few years ago. These are some of
the verses from that fine ode:

Hark! the bulbul's[4] lay so joyous: "Now have come the days of spring!"
Merry shows and crowds on every mead they spread, a maze of spring;
There the almond-tree its silvery blossoms scatters, sprays of spring:
_Gaily live! for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring!_[5]

Once again, with flow'rets decked themselves have mead and plain;
Tents for pleasure have the blossoms raised in every rosy lane;
Who can tell, when spring hath ended, who and what may whole remain?
_Gaily live! for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring!_

* * * * *

Sparkling dew-drops stud the lily's leaf like sabre broad and keen;
Bent on merry gipsy party, crowd they all the flow'ry green!
List to me, if thou desirest, these beholding, joy to glean:
_Gaily live! for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring!_

Rose and tulip, like to maidens' cheeks, all beauteous show,
Whilst the dew-drops, like the jewels in their ears, resplendent glow;
Do not think, thyself beguiling, things will aye continue so:
_Gaily live! for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring!_

* * * * *

Whilst each dawn the clouds are shedding jewels o'er the rosy land,
And the breath of morning zephyr, fraught with Tatar musk, is bland;
Whilst the world's fair time is present, do not thou unheeding stand:
_Gaily live! for soon will vanish, biding not, the days of spring!_

With the fragrance of the garden, so imbued the musky air,
Every dew-drop, ere it reaches earth, is turned to attar rare;
O'er the parterre spread the incense-clouds a canopy right fair:
_Gaily live! for soon will vanish, Biding not, the days of spring!_

[4] The nightingale.

[5] In the original Turkis