"Or has thy good woman, if one thou hast, Ever here in Cornwall been?

For an if she have, I'll venture my life

She has drank of the Well of St. Keyne."

"I have left a good woman who never was here," The Stranger he made reply,

"But that my draught should be the better for that, I pray you answer me why?"

"St. Keyne," quoth the Cornish-man, “many a time Drank of this crystal Well,

And before the Angel summon'd her,

She laid on the water a spell.

"If the Husband of this gifted Well Shall drink before his Wife,

A happy man thenceforth is he,

For he shall be Master for life.

"But if the Wife should drink of it first,

God help the Husband then!"

The Stranger stoopt to the Well of St. Keyne,
And drank of the water again.

"You drank of the Well I warrant betimes?"

He to the Cornish-man said:

But the Cornish-man smiled as the Stranger spake, And sheepishly shook his head.

"I hasten'd as soon as the wedding was done,
And left my Wife in the porch ;

But i' faith she had been wiser than me,
For she took a bottle to Church."

Westbury, 1798.

From "Thalaba the Destroyer ”

I. THE DESERT-CIRCLE

How beautiful is night!

A dewy freshness fills the silent air;
No mist obscures, nor cloud, nor speck, nor stain,
Breaks the serene of heaven;

In full-orb'd glory yonder Moon divine
Rolls through the dark blue depths.
Beneath her steady ray

The desert-circle spreads,

Like the round ocean, girdled with the sky.
How beautiful is night!

Who at this untimely hour
Wanders o'er the desert sands?
No station is in view,

Nor palm-grove, islanded amid the waste.
The mother and her child,

The widow'd mother and the fatherless boy
They at this untimely hour

Wander o'er the desert sands.

Alas! the setting sun
Saw Zeinab in her bliss,

Hodeirah's wife beloved.

Alas! the wife beloved,

The fruitful mother late,

Whom when the daughters of Arabia named,
They wish'd their lot like hers,
She wanders o'er the desert sands
A wretched widow now;

The fruitful mother of so fair a race,
With only one preserved,

She wanders o'er the wilderness.

No tear relieved the burthen of her heart; Stunn'd with the heavy woe, she felt like one Half-waken'd from a midnight dream of blood. But sometimes when the boy

Would wet her hand with tears,

And, looking up to her fix'd countenance, Sob out the name of Mother! then she groan'd. At length collecting, Zeinab turn'd her eyes To heaven, and praised the Lord; "He gave, He takes away!"

The pious sufferer cried,

"The Lord our God is good!"

"Good is He!" quoth the boy : "Why are my brethren and my sisters slain? Why is my father kill'd?

Did ever we neglect our prayers,

Or ever lift a hand unclean to Heaven?

Did ever stranger from our tent

Unwelcomed turn away?

Mother, He is not good!"

Then Zeinab beat her breast in agony,
"O God, forgive the child!

He knows not what he says;

Thou know'st I did not teach him thoughts like these ; O Prophet, pardon him!"

She had not wept till that assuaging prayer,
The fountains of her grief were open'd then,
And tears relieved her heart.

She raised her swimming eyes to Heaven,
"Allah, thy will be done!

Beneath the dispensations of that will
I groan, but murmur not.

A day will come, when all things that are dark
Will be made clear; . then shall I know, O Lord!
Why in thy mercy thou hast stricken me;
Then see and understand what now

My heart believes and feels."

Young Thalaba in silence heard reproof;
His brow in manly frowns was knit,
With manly thoughts his heart was full.
"Tell me who slew my father?" cried the boy.
Zeinab replied and said,

"I knew not that there lived thy father's foe.
The blessings of the poor for him
Went daily up to Heaven;

In distant lands the traveller told his praise; .
I did not think there lived

Hodeirah's enemy."

"But I will hunt him through the world!"
Young Thalaba exclaim'd.

"Already I can bend my father's bow;

Soon will my arm have strength

To drive the arrow-feathers to his heart."

Zeinab replied, "O Thalaba, my child,
Thou lookest on to distant days,

And we are in the desert, far from men !"

Not till that moment her afflicted heart
Had leisure for the thought.
She cast her eyes around,

Alas! no tents were there
Beside the bending sands,

No palm-tree rose to spot the wilderness;
The dark blue sky closed round,

And rested like a dome

Upon the circling waste.
She cast her eyes around,
Famine and Thirst were there;

And then the wretched Mother bow'd her head,
And wept upon her child.

II. ABDALDAR THE SORCERER ATTEMPTS THE LIFE OF THALABA

FROM tribe to tribe, from town to town, From tent to tent, Abdaldar pass'd. Him every morn the all-beholding Eye Saw from his couch, unhallow'd by a prayer, Rise to the scent of blood;

And every night lie down,

That rankling hope within him, that by day
Goaded his steps, still stinging him in sleep,