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THE GOLDEN VIOLET.
I have a tale from Eastern lands,
The same shall be my song to-day;
It tells the vanity of life,—
Apply its lesson as ye may.
THE EASTERN KING:
THE PILGRIM'S TALE.
He flung back the chaplet, he threw down the wine
"Young Monarch, what sorrow or care can be thine?
There are gems in thy palace, each one like a star
That shines in the bosom of twilight afar;
Thy goblets are mantling in purple and light,
The maidens around thee like morning are bright,
Ten kingdoms bow down at the sound of thy name,
The lands of far countries have heard of thy fame,
