Had been coming, we’re coming to gladden the throng,
With laughter and legend, with music and tune;
Darkish eyes gleaming spherical us; mild tones on the air:
And the greetings of childhood to welcome us there ;
A solar within the sky, and a breeze on the ocean,
Oh !shew us the minstrels extra glad than we!
A DESCRIPTION has already been given of the Asian Valley of Candy Waters ; of its majestic airplane bushes, its laughing river, and its scrumptious greensward; of the younger beauties who throng its recesses, the Sultanas who grace its drives; and the rosy kids who make its echoes vocal. Rut its musicians are a race aside, and the artist calls for for them and in fact they’re nicely worthy of it!
Not one of the sweetest
Their minstrelsy is not one of the sweetest; it requires not the ear of science to detect their discords, nor the style of the poet to smile at their absurdities; and but, it’s inconceivable to not welcome them with smiles, for you recognize that pleasure and laughter fellow of their prepare : the calpae of the one, and the turban of the opposite, alike covers a shrewd and a busy mind. IIow a lot could also be advised in a tune, or hinted in a stanza! Take a look at the group round them! The matron is there, cautious and watchful, remembering the years of Her personal youth, and the evils by which she was then surrounded; and but beguiled by the “crafty minstrelsie” of the wandering bards into momentary forgetfulness of all save the allure of their prepared wit and easy seeming: the younger magnificence is beside her, veiled and draped with jealous care, it’s true, however with a coronary heart as heat, and a flowery as buoyant, as if yashmacs and lattices had been unknown within the land of her delivery ; her pale cheek flushes, and her pulses quicken as she listens ; for to her the songs of the pilgrim-bards inform a deeper and a dearer story than to her placid grand’ dame ; whereas the attentive kids collect collectively in groupes, and gaze and hearken in mute and questioning admiration. Many a wild legend do the minstrels chaunt, in a gradual, drawling, monotonous tone, which might add however little to the allure of the subject-matter of their tune; whereas an occasional rasp of the grating tambourine, a speedy rattling of its silver bells, and the hole sound emitted by the small Arab drums that are their traditional accompaniment, alone serve to alleviate the tedium of recitation. Nice, nevertheless, should be the lays which they pour forth ; for a lot of of their honest auditors will stay umvcariedly for hours, listening and applauding with low-breathed “ Mashallahs!” and “Ajaibs!”* and with no single symptom of ennui.