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One pass took us no less than three days to accomplish, or rather nights, for the heat in these defiles is so great during the day, that whenever there is more than half-moon, it is best to travel by her light. Beloochistan is out of the tropics, but at certain seasons of the year it is hotter than any portion of Hindostan. Even in spring, the air seemed full of fire during the day, and in the shade the thermometer stood above 110 degrees. But what made the climate peculiarly trying was this great heat being followed in the evening, early morning, and during the night, by piercing cold winds, which came down from the snowy mountains of Sarewan and Jhalewan. With the deserts of Sind upon one side, and those of Seistan upon another, with a broad flat sandy line of coast, which soon vitiates the sea-breeze, with snowy mountains in the centre, few rivers and little vegetation, it is not surprising that the climate is, for the most part, of the very worst kind, and that the inhabitants have been able to preserve the independence of their country from before the days of Alexander

until now.

Yet is it these mountains, with their valleys, which redeem the land from desolation. On these, clouds gather, supplying many of the valleys with small perennial streams, while, for a season, rivers proceed from the melting snow of the interior. The large valleys are sometimes sixty or a hundred miles broad at their base; they are quite flat, covered with low jungle, and bounded by mountainranges which seem, in the distance, to rise up at once high perpendicular rock-walls from the level plain. There are small towns in them, and round these towns there is a good deal of cultivation-green lanes, with prickly hedges that have even an English look, and large clumps of trees, in which the date-palm is conspicuous. But the greater part of the wide plains may be called prairie-land. One of these, that of the great Poorally valley, reminded us most forcibly of the desolate miasmatic Roman Campagna. In the evening, the same grey poisonous mist rolled over it, which we had watched from the heights of Tivoli, experienced among

the Pontine Marshes, and in which it is almost death to sleep, unless the face be covered with a thin cloth. The dull-blue buffaloes, with their long retreating bent horns, which came over the gentle undulations among the burnt-up grass and low stunted trees, were the same as those which abound on the Campagna, and were brought into Italy by Lorenzo de' Medici; and the few herdsmen to be met with were scarcely stranger or wilder-looking than the "goldenskinned" Massari, who, with their sheepskin coats and long lances, are as picturesque as any Belooch or Pawnee. It was only near to the Poorally river that the scene became peculiarly Asiatic. Towards the mouth it was a large sluggish stream; the banks being here fringed with reeds, there opening out into large flat meadows, and again covered with small but graceful trees lively with parroquets and smaller birds of many brilliant hues. Grassy islets broke the glassy surface of the water, and on these, crocodiles were seen lazily sleeping in the sun, while some sudden splash or muddy gurgle indicated more of those sullen monsters. Thousands of ducks were floating in thickly-scattered flocks near the shore, and a dozen of them were hit at every shot, although it was rather difficult to secure the bodies, for a servant, who rushed in with great enthusiasm to secure some, nearly got his foot snapped off by a crocodile, and rushed back again all trembling, crying" Mugger! Mugger!" Flamingoes, geese, other large birds were flying about, or wading in the water. The level prairie, with its blue buffaloes, the clumps of trees, the marsh and reeds, the crocodiles, the flamingoes, the flat wide valley, the dim mountains in the distance, with the absence of house, or hut, or human being-all went to form one of those striking scenes of which we have such longing daydreams in the years of boyhood. It had'a singular mystic influence, as the realisation of some lection," or as suggestive of some shadowy recolgreater life; for we

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The pleasure of believing what we see
Is boundless, as we wish our souls to be."

The valleys have but scanty population, but the mountains may be said to have none at all, and some are of very curious formation. We spent two days in attempting to ascend the Vehur range, which separates the province of Las from that of Mekran, and were foiled after all. Being composed of alternate pyramidal-shaped layers of sandstone and mud, tilted up not far from perpendicular to the height of four thousand feet, and the action of the elements having washed away most of the mud, there remained the curious phenomenon of a mountain range out of which there had been taken a series of cuts, isolating each remaining slice from every other. Consequently, it was possible to wander for miles through narrow clefts arched by the blue sky; but what with cross passages, sudden terminations, losing oneself in the labyrinth, and ascending delusory slices which turned out to be lower than many around, no real progress was made toward reaching the central elevation, which, after the trouble and danger of mounting some pasteboardlike pyramid a thousand feet high, always seemed as far off as ever. There are other mountains, as portions of the Hala, on which a broad backbone of black basalt has been tilted up through secondary rock; and the summits of these form small portions of table-land. No Belooch

or Brahui feeds his flock up there; but the wild mountain-sheep, with their magnificent horns, afford difficult and exciting sport. From the edge of one of the mountain plateaus which we managed to reach, there was a perpendicular fall of at least two thousand feet; and at mid-day the climate was cool and bracing compared with what it was below. It was in the evening that the mountainviews appeared most striking. The wild confusion of rock beneath spread away in the lurid glare like some primeval world destitute of life. The vast jungly valleys, falling westwards in the distance, seemed like dark but lurid rivers pouring down their molten floods into the glory of the sea. In the utter desolation, where the foot of man had never trod before, the silence was unbroken by any sound. Heaven's deepening blue, the only thing of beauty there," was serene and passionless, unvexed by any cloud. Beyond our poor earth's rim, the great rosy light of other worlds was fading in the West. A dark shadow seemed to rise up from the earth, and a flood of darkness swept round the basalt cliff that raised its brow above the gloom into the light of stars. So removed were we from all familiar manifestations of earthly life, that we felt as if not upon the earth at all, but alone and newly alighted on some new-born star.

66

COLUMBUS.

[THE following Poem, which gained for its young author the Prize for the best composition of that form, in the Rhetoric and Belles-Lettres class in the University of Edinburgh, was handed to us by Professor Aytoun, without any comment. On perusing it, we arrived at the conviction that it exhibited more beauties, and was marred by fewer faults, than are discernible in the great majority of exercises of this description; and we gladly, on account of its merit, give it a place in the columns of the Magazine, being assured that our readers will accept it as a sufficient proof of the care which is bestowed, in our Scottish metropolitan university, upon the practice of vernacular composition.-ED.]

Now through two weary moons, the restless keels
Had journey'd onward to the Gates of Eve;
Still fortune shone not, and no hopeful sign
Gladden'd their toil with earnest of success.
Still Ocean hid within his circling arms

The land they sought, and on her thousand shores
Whisper'd unheard, unseen.

Each early Morn

With eager watching eyes they scann'd the verge
Of outmost ocean, and each weary Eve

In sadness turn'd to meditate and mourn.

Yet oft in fancy's vision seem'd to rise,

Far to the Westward, where the parting day
Lay throned in state, fair lands of emerald dyes,
Bright isles encircled by the purple sea;

Here were cool valleys spread, that sweeter shone
Than all the myrtle groves of fair Castile,

And here brave mountains rear'd their haughty front
Flush'd with the closing sunset's rosy light:

Oh then were leaping hearts and straining eyes!
Till Night her envious curtains closed around,
And the grey Morn awoke, whose sober ray
O'ershone a weary waste of shoreless sea.

Thus day by day, a never-ending scroll,
The deep roll'd out before them, and the sky
Stood like a burnish'd wall on every side:
And, day by day, the sailors' hearts grew sad:
Hope's twilight faded, and Despair's chill night

Darken'd their breasts with rage, their brows with gloom;
Therefore they spake, and crowded as they spake
Around the Master, with strange longing eyes

And mingled looks of fear and fierce resolve.

"Our homes are white by Palos shore
In the light of th' Autumn day,
But we return, ah! never more

To Palos by the bay.

Our bones shall roll in the restless sea

And matted weeds our shroud shall be !

"Now twice the moon had wax'd and waned
Above our head to Westward sailing,
For land our eager eyes are strain'd,
O labour unavailing!

Our hope is fled, and our golden dream
Pass'd like a mist in morning's beam.

"Tell us, shall we sail with thee
Into the sunset's burning eye,
Across the never-ending sea

Still onward, till we die?
A weary sea with never a shore,
That rolls behind and spreads before,
Rides by the keel for evermore.

"On to our ruin we rush open-eyed;
Ha! to receive us the sea-grave is wide;
Dark grows the maddening thought!
Home let us hie!

Rush not on destiny!

Tempt not the sky!

Our loved ones are calling!
They chide our delay!
Sons of the ocean
To Eastward away!-
Tarry not, brothers,
Be manful of mind;
Spread our sea pinions
Abroad to the wind,
To Spain of our love,
To our homes by the bay;
Tarry not, brothers!

To Eastward away!"

From words to acts, to rope and helm they sprang
Like hounds unleash'd; but as the huntsman's voice
Recalls the erring curs, with drooping heads

And eyes that beg for mercy to his heel,
So in the fire-glance of the Master's eye

Stay'd they their mid career, and cower'd abash'd.

Like some old alchemist, whose toilsome years
Had stamp'd endurance on his iron brow,
Within whose breast, high-hoping, thwarted oft,
Had calm'd to patient trust, resolved he stood
A grand grey-headed man.

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'My men," he said,
"To this emprise I gave my youthful years,
My nights of study and my days of toil,
Poor, save in hope, until the burning thought
I moulded on the anvil of my brain

Has cooled to iron purpose: shall I now
Fail in the trial, like a faithless brand
That sells its lord? No, by yon heaven I serve!
The cost is counted, and I bide my time
Through thousand troubles hopeful. All my course
A voice has whisper'd ever in my ear,
'Go on, go on, Columbus, it is thine
To plant new jewels in the ancient crowns
That rule in Europe, and to lift the Cross
For healing of another Christendom.
Go on, and prosper!' Shall I fear to press
Where points the guiding finger of my fate?
Or, having come to this our mighty quest,
So nigh success, say, shall we turn us now,
To be the jest and by-word of the time?
I cannot think ye cowards! ye are men

Dauntless of heart and resolute of will

To win regard of Heaven, and carve your names
Enduring through the ages.
Hear me more :

I, by my science and by signs, do know
That one short day our enterprise shall crown,
And fortune's cup brim o'er.

Mark well my words:

But once yon sun shall lip the Western wave

Ere this fair land, which night and day I've sought
As one that searches for a long-lost love,

Shall rise from ocean like a smiling bride,

And toil be glorious gain."

Slowly they pass'd

As clouds when skies are wrathful, heavy-brow'd,
And big with silent thunder, till soft sleep
Upon her dreamy bosom laid each head,
And kiss'd each weary eyelid into rest,
That not the angry sea that groan'd around,
And smote the ship with weary buffetings,
Could break; but still the memory of their woes
Waked, and with cruel fancies shook their souls.
One wept in sleep, and one did clap his hands
And murmur "Land!" Anon he shriek'd aloud,
""Tis false, I tell ye-false, and we are lost;
The sea takes all." Sadly the Master heard,
And his big heart was bow'd with many griefs;
He knelt him lowly on the midnight deck,

And his strong wish went heavenward, while the ship
Drove onward thro' the darkness of the night.

Again the dawn, again the king-eyed sun
Reign'd in the welkin, and the day was full;
Again on either side the waters rode

And sparkled to the noon.

But on the tide

Came sailing slowly flowers and golden fruits,

New launch'd from land, and birds whose procreant nest

Ne'er lay on barren cliff or sea-beat rock,

But in the leafy covert of the woods

Securely hung; bright birds, of rainbow dyes,
Flashing their gleaming pinions in the sun,
Made sweetest music round the airy mast.
Auspicious signs! and all their hearts were glad.
And while the Day still linger'd on his flight,
And Evening's eyes were peering in the East,
Fronting the solemn skies on deck they stood,
Their heads uncover'd all for reverence;
With souls attuned with gratitude they sang,
And their big voices shook with o'er-fraught joy :—

"Mother of pity and fountain of love!
Who in yon azure sky reignest above,
Hope of the mariner! Queen ever fair!
Look on our lowliness!

List to our prayer!

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