Gardening has frequently been one of the most exhilarating recreations of royalty. When Lysander, the Lacedemonian general, brought magnificent presents to Cyrus, the younger son of Darius, who piqued himself more on his integrity and politeness than on his rank and birth, the prince conducted his illustrious guest through his gardens, and pointed out to him their varied beauties. Lysander, struck with so fine a prospect, praised the manner in which the grounds were laid out, the neatness of the walks, the abundance of fruits planted with an art which knew how to combine the useful with the agreeable; the beauty of the parterres, and the glowing variety of flowers exhaling odours universally throughout the delightful scene. 'Everything charms and transports me in this place,' said Lysander to Cyrus; 'but what strikes me most is the exquisite taste and elegant industry of the person who drew the plan of these gardens, and gave it the fine order, wonderful disposition, and happiness of arrangement which I cannot sufficiently admire.' Cyrus replied: 'It was I that drew the plan, and entirely marked it out; and many of the trees which you see were planted by my own hands.' 'What!' exclaimed Lysander with surprise, and viewing Cyrus from head to foot—'is it possible, that with those purple robes and splendid vestments, those strings of jewels and bracelets of gold, those buskins so richly embroidered; is it possible that you could play the gardener, and employ your royal hands in planting trees?' 'Does that surprise you?' said Cyrus. 'I assure you, that when my health permits, I never sit down to table without having fatigued myself, either in military exercise, rural labour, or some other toilsome employment, to which I apply myself with pleasure.' Lysander, still more amazed, pressed Cyrus by the hand, and said: 'You are truly happy, and deserve your high fortune, since you unite it with virtue.'
UNDER THE PALMS.
BY CALDER CAMPBELL.
Under the palm-trees on India's shore
Ne'er shall I wander at morning or eve;
Hearts there have withered, but still in the core
Of mine springs the memory of feelings that give
Green thoughts in sunshine and bright hopes in gloom;
Friendship, which love's loud emotions becalms:
Oh, happy was I, in those bowers of perfume,
Under the palms!
Go forth, little children; the wood's insect-hum
Invites ye; expand there, like buds in the sun;
Leave schools and their studies for days that will come,
And let thy first lessons from nature be won!
Teachings hath nature most sage and most sweet—
The music that swells in the tree-linnet's psalms;
So taught, my young heart learned to prize that retreat
Under the palms!
The odour of jasmines afloat on the breeze,
That woke in the dawning the birds on each bough;
The frolicsome squirrels, that scampered at case
'Mid lithe leaves and soft moss that smiled down below:
Heaps piled up of mangoes, all fragrant and rich;
Guavas pink-cored, such a wealth of sweet alms
Presented by bright maids, whose sweet songs bewitch
Under the palms!
Pale, yellow bananas, with satiny pulp
That tastes like some dainty of sugar and cream;
Blithe-kernelled pomegranates, just gathered to help
A feast fit to serve in the bowers of a dream!
Milk, foaming and snowy; rice, swelling and sweet;
Iced sherbet that cools, and spiced ginger that warms:
Oh, simple our banquet in that dear retreat
Under the palms!
A tinkling of lutes and a toning of voices—
Of young maiden voices just fresh from the bath;
A sprinkling of rosewater cool, that rejoices
The scented grass screening our bower from the path;
Trim baskets of melons, new gathered, beside
Fair bunches of blossoms that heal all sick qualms;
And books, when to reading our fancies subside,
Under the palms!