Fades from the desert, and peace-bearing Night
Shakes the first gem on her brow in our sight.
Monsoor, my host! lo, I enter your tent,
As brother by brother, hands clasping, is led:
I sleep like a child in a dream Heaven-sent;
For have I not eaten the salt and the bread?
And Monsoor will answer for me with his head.
GEORGE H. BOKER.
CONSTANTINOPLE, Jan. 10, 1875.