Dear Night!
Bring weeping dew,
And sad enchantments to undo the spells
Of baleful day, while from thy silent cells
Of dusk and slumber, still heart's-peace exhales.

O Night!
O Night, pursue
The bitter Day, and from her keeping wrest
Those cruel spoils, and to my empty breast
Give lethean calm, and dearest death, and rest.




CHAPTER XV.


The Rajah of Kashmir and his court went a-hunting on the day of Lal
Singh's return to their good company. They swept down the valley, a
gorgeous train of nobles and host of attendants with falcons girt for
foray, and moved with much state and circumstance among the hills until
the sun grew hot, when silken tents were pitched in a walnut grove near
by a smoothly flowing river. Here they ate and drank and reposed while
obsequious servants fanned them, and the sweet music of vinas blended
with the murmur of the water and the droning of the bees.

The Rajah sat in the entrance of a crimson tent and enjoyed the
delicious air. The nest-laden branches drooped above, the twittering of