To-morrow shall be the blessedest day
That ever the all-seeing sun espied:
Though thou sleep till the morning's earliest ray,
Yet then thou must waken to be my bride.
Yea, waken, my love, for to-morrow we wed:
Uplift the lids of thy beautiful eyes.
A light at her feet and a light at her head,
How fast asleep my Dolores lies!
EMMA LAZARUS.
GLIMPSES OF CONSTANTINOPLE.
CONCLUDING PAPER.
[Illustration: SCENE IN A BURIAL-GROUND.]
There is a continuous fascination about this old city. The guide-book
says, "A week or ten days are required to see the sights," but though we
make daily expeditions we seem in no danger of exhausting them. Neither
does one have to go far to seek amusement. I never look down into the
street below my windows without being attracted by some object of
interest. The little donkeys with their great panniers of long slim
loaves of bread (oh, tell it not, but I once saw the driver use one as a
stick to belabor the lazy animal with, and then leave it, with two or
three other loaves, at the opposite house, where a pretty Armenian, that
I afterward saw taking the air on the roof with her bright-eyed little
girl, perhaps had it for her breakfast!); the fierce, lawless Turkish
soldiers stalking along, their officers mounted, and looking much better
in their baggy trousers and frock-coats on their fine horses than on
foot; Greek and Armenian ladies in gay European costumes; veiled Turkish
women in their quiet street-dress; close carriages with
gorgeously-dressed beauties from the sultan's harem followed by black
eunuchs on horseback,--these and similar groups in every variety of
costume form a constant stream of strange and picturesque sights.
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