ALL the songs of the East tell of the love of the nightingale for the rose; in the silent starlit nights the winged songster serenades his fragrant flower.

Not far from Smyrna , under the lofty plane trees , where the merchant drives his loaded camels, that proudly lift their long necks and tramp clumsily over the holy ground , I saw a hedge of roses . Wild pigeons flew amongthe branches of the high trees, and their wings glistened, while a sunbeam glided over them, as if they were of mother-o' -pearl .

The rose hedge bore a flower which was the most beautiful among all, and the nightingale sang to her of his woes; but the Rose was silent----not a dewdrop lay, like a tear of sympathy , upon her leaves : she bent down over a few great stones .

“Here rests the greatest singer of the world ! ” said the Rose: “over his tomb will I pour out my fragrance, and on it I will let fall my leaves when the storm tears them off . He who sang of Troy became earth , and from that earth I have sprung . I , a rose from the grave of Homer , am too lofty to bloom for a poor nightingale!”

And the nightingale sang himself to death .

The camel driver came with his loaded camels and his black slaves: his little son found the dead bird, and buried the little songster in the grave of the great Homer. A............