ian into the Tartar language, Bodenstedt found only one of his
original efforts which was worthy of preservation. The song referred
to was one hurled, as it were, at the head of an offending mullah who
had derided Mirza-Schaffy for his tenderness to wine, and reads as
follows:

Mullah! pure is our wine:
It to revile were sin.
Shouldst thou censure my word,
May'st find truth therein!

No devotion hath me
To thy mosque led to pray:
Through wine render'd free,
I have chanced there to stray.

All other poems introduced into the _Thousand and One Days in the
Orient_ are entirely of Bodenstedt's own composition, were designed
to add flavor to the picture of an Eastern divan of wisdom, and were
usually written while the impression was fresh of intercourse with the
wise man of Gjaendsha. Shortly after the appearance of the book, which
was well received by the public, the publisher proposed to Bodenstedt
to issue separately the poems contained in it; and this was finally
done in an attractive volume entitled _The Songs of Mirza-Schaffy_,
many additions being made to the original collection. Of these, one of
the most fresh and sparkling is a spring song, which has never before
appeared in English, and which we present as a fitting introduction:

When young Spring up mountain-peaks doth hie,
And the sunbeams scatter stores of snow--
When the trees put forth their leaflets shy,
And amid grass the first wild flower doth blow--
When in yonder vale
Fleeth in a gale
All the dolesome rain and wintry wail,
Rings from upland air
Forth to many a clime,
"Oh, how wond'rous fair
Is the glad spring-time!"

When the glaciers quail 'neath hot sunbeams,
And all Nature into life doth spring--
When from mountain-sides gush forth cool streams,
And with sounds of glee the forests ring--
Fragrant zephyrs too
Stray the green meads through
And the heavens smile, serene and blue.
While from upland air
Rings to many a clime,
"Oh, how wond'rous fair
Is the glad spring-time!"

And was it not in the days of spring
That thy heart and mine, O maiden fair!
Were united, while our lips did cling
In their first long kiss, so sweet and rare?
What the glad grove sang
Through the wide vale rang,
And the fresh stream from the mountain sprang.
While the upland air
Wafted