LAYS OF MANY LANDS.

NO. I. COSSIMBAZAR.

OME fleetly, come fleetly, my hookabadar,

For the sound of the tam-tam is heard from

afar.

"Banoolah! Banoolah! The Brahmins

are nigh,

And the depths of the jungle re-echo their

cry.

Pestonjee Bomanjee!

Smite the guitar;

Join in the chorus, my hookabadar.

Heed not the blast of the deadly monsoon,

Nor the blue Brahmaputra that gleams in the moon.

Stick to thy music, and oh! let the sound

Be heard with distinctness a mile or two round.

Join in the chorus, my hookabadar.

Art thou a Buddhist, or dost thou indeed

Put faith in the monstrous Mohammedan creed?

Art thou a Ghebir—a blinded Parsee?

Not that it matters an atom to me.

Jcunsetjee Jeejeebhoy!

Sweep the guitar.

Cursetjee Bomanjee!

Twang the guitar.

Join in the chorus, my hookabadar.

NO. 2. SARAGOSSA.

PITA, my paragon, bright star of Arragon;

Listen, dear, listen; your Cristobal sings.

From my cot that lies buried a short way

from Lerida

Love and a diligence lent me their wings.

Swift as a falcon I flew to thy balcony.

(Is it bronchitis? I can't sing a bar.)

Greet not with merriment Love's first experi-

ment;

Listen, Pépita! I 've brought my catarrh.

Manuel the matador may, like a flat, adore

Donna Dolores. I pity his choice,

For they say that her governor lets neither lover nor

Any one else hear the sound of her voice.

Brother Bartolomé (stoutish Apollo) may

Sigh for Sabina—you 'll pardon this cough?—

And Isabel's votary, Nunez the notary,

Vainly—(.That sneeze again? Loved one, I'm off!)

NO. 3. CLARENS.

AKE Leman wooes me with its crystal

face—

(That observation is the late Lord

Byron's)

And Chillon seems a damp unpleasant

place—

(Where Bonnivard, poor soul, got

clapt in irons.)

Beside me Vevey lies, romantic town,

(I wish the weather were not quite

so damp,

And, not far distant, Alpine summits

frown—

(Ah, just what I expected. That's the cramp!)

Before the blast are driven the flying clouds—

(And I should like to blow a cloud as well)

The vapours wrap the mountain-tops in shrouds—

(I left my mild cheroots at the hotel.)

Dotting the glassy surface of the stream,

(Oh, here's a cigarette—my mind's at ease,)

The boats move silently as in a dream—

(Confound it! where on earth are my fusees?)

Methinks in such a Paradise as this,

(Thank goodness, there 's a clodhopper in sight.)

To live were ecstasy, to die were bliss.

(Could you oblige me, Monsieur, with a light?)

I could live pure beneath so pure a sky——

(The rain's completely spoilt my Sunday coat,)

And sink into the tomb without a sigh—

(There's the bell ringing for the table d'hote.)

NO. 4. VENICE.

PEED, gondolier, speed, o'er the

lonely lagoon,

To the distant piazetta

Where dwells my Minetta,

Lest envious Aurora surprise us too

soon.

Sing, gondolier, sing, with a heart

full as mine—

Though thy larynx be wheezy

And singing's not easy

Whilst guiding a vessel so tub-like as thine.

Cease, gondolier, cease; 'twas an exquisite air—

But we've reach'd the Rialto,

So hand me that paletot;

And tell me, my gondolier, what is thy fare?