inning is half the winning,
An Alexander makes worlds his fee.
No long debating! The Queens are waiting
In his pavilion on bended knee.

Thus swift pursuing his wars and wooing,
He mounts old Darius' bed and throne.
O glorious ruin! O blithe undoing!
O drunk death-triumph in Babylon!

The Golden Calf.

AFTER HEINE.

Double flutes and horns resound
As they dance the idol round;
Jacob's daughters, madly reeling,
Whirl about the golden calf.
Hear them laugh!
Kettledrums and laughter pealing.

Dresses tucked above their knees,
Maids of noblest families,
In the swift dance blindly wheeling,
Circle in their wild career
Round the steer,--
Kettledrums and laughter pealing.

Aaron's self, the guardian gray
Of the faith, at last gives way,
Madness all his senses stealing;
Prances in his high priest's coat
Like a goat,--
Kettledrums and laughter pealing.

The Azra.

AFTER HEINE.

Daily walked the fair and lovely
Sultan's daughter in the twilight,--
In the twilight by the fountain,
Where the sparkling waters plash.

Daily stood the young slave silent
In the twilight by the fountain,
Where the plashing waters sparkle,
Pale and paler every day.

Once by twilight came the princess
Up to him with rapid questions:
"I would know thy name, thy nation,
Whence thou comest, who thou art."

And the young slave said, "My name is
Mahomet, I come from Yemmen.
I am of the sons of Azra,
Men who perish if they love."

Good and Bad Luck.

AFTER HEINE.

Good luck is the gayest of all gay girls,
Long in one place she will not stay,
Back from your brow she strokes the curls,
Kisses you quick and flies away.

But Madame Bad Luck soberly comes
And stays,--no fancy has she for flitting,--
Snatches of true love-songs she hums,
And sits by your bed, and brings her knitting.

L'Amour du Mensonge.

After Charles Baudelaire.

When I behold thee, O my indolent love,
To the sound of ringing brazen melodies,
Through garish halls harmoniously move,
Scattering a scornful light from languid eyes;

When I see, smitten by the blazing lights,
Thy pale front, beauteous in its bloodless glow
As the faint fires that deck the Northern nights,
And eyes that draw me wheresoever I go;

I say, She is fair, too coldly strange for speech;
A crown of memories, her calm brow above,
Shines; and her heart is like a bruised red peach,
Ripe as her body for