And though as swift as lightning's flash Those tranced moments flew, Not all the waves of time shall wash But duly shall my raptured song, Still bless this day's return, as long TO A CHILD. BY JOANNA BAILLIE. Whose imp art thou, with dimpled cheek, And arm and shoulders round and sleek What boots it who with sweet caresses Thy downcast glances, grave but cunning, Thy shyness, swiftly from me running,- But far a-field thou hast not flown, With mocks and threats half-lisp'd half-spoken, I feel thee pulling at my gown, Of right goodwill thy simple token. And thou must laugh and wrestle too,. To make, as wily lovers do, The wilding rose, sweet as thyself, But yet for all thy merry look, Thy frisks and wiles, the time is coming, Well; let it be! thro' weal and woe And thou a thing of hope and change. A JOURNEY TO PALMYRA, OR TADMOR IN THE DESERT, WITH A SHORT ENQUIRY RELATIVE TO THE WIND OF THE DESERT CALLED SAMIELI. BY COUNT WENCESLAUS RZEWUSKY. PALMYRA, or Tadmor, situated in the arid and burning Desert of Arabia (the province of Hauran), is too interesting not to excite the curiosity of every traveller who loves to carry back his imagination to the remotest periods of antiquity, and to contemplate, among majestic ruins, the vicissitudes of fortune. Once splendid, and celebrated for its luxury and its commerce, interesting from the misfortunes of the warlike and proud Zenobia, Palmyra, whose temple rivalled in riches the most magnificent edifices, the number of whose columns seemed to equal that of the stars, is now only a heap of overthrown columns, of insulated colonnades, of broken capitals, and decayed porticoes. Koehla and Ada, two mountains at the foot of which Palmyra is situated, and which the Bedouins often celebrate in their poetry, no more re-echo to the cheerful songs of an industrious and prosperous people. Gloomy Silence, the presiding genius of the waste, has succeeded to the hymns and songs of joy; and the Arab alone, armed with his lance, and mounted on his spirited mare, sometimes animates this solitude. There leaning on the tombs which cover the heights, he meditates the commission of some crime; he watches the favourable moment; or endeavours to surprise the ostrich for the sake of its feathers. The statues which adorned the temples and the galleries, are buried under deep sand, which the winds have been amassing for centuries. The sanctuary of the Sun has become a wretched hamlet, and its fine remains serve as vaults, or as walls to the miserable sheds which some poor inhabitants have fixed to them, and who daily abandon them, never to return. It is in the midst of these ruins that the eye of the philosopher is struck with the unequal combat between Time and Industry. It is on these precious remains that History and Tradition found their triumph; before them, Time is compelled to humble his destroying scythe. It is through them that a single fragment rebuilds an entire space, that a single name re-animates whole nations. Time thus yields his sceptre to Memory, and Antiquity receives the homage which is its due. There are travellers who prefer Balbec to Palmyra; but I am not of this opinion. Situated in the rich and fruitful valley of the Bequaa, enclosed in a more confined space, circumscribed within narrower limits, Balbec offers ruins, the ensemble of which is more easily embraced. Palmyra engages both the mind and the heart: they dwell, by turns, on the immensity of these ruins; on the romantic history of a warlike and unfortunate princess; on periods of glory and humiliation; on the mysteries of an ancient and natural religion. Balbec was the work of the Romans only. Sacred history, its own, with which we are un-. happily too little acquainted, and that also of the Romans, are connected with Palmyra. At Balbec, all is great; at Palmyra, all is immense. A valley sufficed for Balbec; the Desert, that solid ocean, was reserved for Palmyra. It was on the 17th of June 1819, that I set out from Aleppo by the Desert to visit Tadmor. This route, according to the accounts of the people of Aleppo, has not been taken by any one except Scheik Ibrahim (Mr. Burckhardt). I incurred great dangers during the twenty-three days that I remained in the Desert, in the hands of Quazé guides. I bore the name of the Emir Tage ol Fakhr (crown of glory), the translation of my Polish Christian name, Wiencryslau. I owed this danger to the great celebrity which I had acquired among the Bedouins, on the various occasions when I visited them. I was considered by them as the great Emir of the Bedouin tribes of the North. My hardy and active mode of life, my manner of riding on horseback, the management of the lance and the sabre, which exercises are familiar to all true Poles from their childhood; some acts of generosity, a great knowledge of the races of horses of the Nedjed, and of their distinguishing characteristics, proved by examinations which I was obliged to undergo among the tribes of Hosueh, of Weled-Aly, of Sebah, and of the Fidanes-every thing, in short, caused me to be compared with the favourite hero of the Arabs, the celebrated Antar. Verses were sung in my praise among the tribes, and thus my name was spread in the Desert; and, as I afterwards learnt, it penetrated to the remotest part of Arabia. At the time when I determined to leave Aleppo, the Desert was in combustion. The tribe of Weled-Aly had just cut to pieces a body of Delibaches of the Pacha of Damascus. The Wechabites had begun again to act offensively; many Sheiks had been arrested and detained by the Pacha of Bagdad, and their tribes roamed about without guides. My appearance in the Desert put all these tribes in motion to seize me. I had been betrayed at Aleppo, and they were informed of my departure from that city before I had quitted it. They desired to make themselves masters of my person, in order to obtain their Sheiks in exchange. The merchants of Bagdad, and Mess. Picciotto, the consuls, informed me of all this. However, I resolved to set out, depending on my good fortune, which has never deserted me. I was accompanied by M. Antoine Rossel, my interpreter, an active and intelligent young man, who was connected with the first families of Aleppo, and whose conduct I cannot sufficiently praise. I took some dromedaries, and repaired to the encampment of Auazés Fidanes, at Tal el Sultan; which I left two days after at nine o'clock in the evening, the night being very dark, directing my course by the stars. The time which I had chosen for this journey was so dangerous, that some Englishmen, notwithstanding the assistance afforded them by the Pacha of Damascus, and the Mutesellims, could not execute their plan, were plundered, even wounded, and turned back without having seen Palmyra. These same Mutesellims could hardly believe that I had been there; and when they were convinced of it, they found my expedition so bold, that they gave me the name of El Fiddavi; i. e. the Devoted. My journey through the Desert from the gates of Aleppo had more than one purpose. The following are my reasons for choosing that direction: Palmyra being the principal object, it enabled me to observe the Desert in a direction which it was necessary for me to know in a geographical point of view; I wished to see several Bedouin encampments, to obtain a sight of their horses; and, lastly, to learn the nature of the celebrated wind called the Samieli. It was, in fact, the season when it is prevalent. I do not intend to speak here of the ruins of Palmyra. I refer the reader to the work of Mr. R. Wood, which I have found correct in every particular, as well as his engravings, with the exception of some differences which time has occasioned. That traveller visited Palmyra in 1751. Since his time, the sand having accumulated, the general aspect of the proportions has partly changed; there are also several columns marked in the plates, which now no louger exist. I reserve for another memoir my observations on the profile of the Desert. A separate notice also will be dedicated to the Arabian horses; I have brought back four of the first races. Here I shall speak only of the Desert-wind called Samieli. This pestilential wind which is felt in the deserts of Arabia, and which causes the death of so many pilgrims going to Mecca, is called in literal Arabic, sammoum, which means burning wind blowing at intervals and by night. It is likewise called harrour, the burning night-wind. The difference between the denominations sammoum and harrour is, that the former includes an idea of poison. In fact, the root of samum, is sammu, to administer poison; sammon means poison, saammon poisoned. The Arabs of the Desert call it sumbuli, which appears to me to be a compound of sam, poison, and of bullaton, humidity, moisture; or ballaton, humid wind, which excites moisture. Such I take to be the origin of the word sumbuli, I think we should say saam ballaton, that is, poisoned wind, humid, and causing moisture, By humid we are not to understand aqueous, bringing rain, but loaded with vapour, The Turks call it samieli. The Samieli, or Sumbuli, is felt in the Desert from about the middle of June to the 21st of September. It is experienced with a very violent south-west wind, and on those days when the heat of the sun is the most ardent. It is burning; it comes in gusts, more or less scorching, of more or less duration; each of them, however, even the shortest, exceeds the time that a man can hold his breath. This wind consists in a succession of burning and cool gusts. In the first, there is frequently a double degree of heat and impetuosity. The difference between the hot and the cold gusts, according to my observation, is from 7 to 10 degrees. The highest degree of the hot gusts was 63° of Reaumur; the temperature in the sun, without the samieli, having been constantly from 43° to 47°, I thought I could observe that when this wind blows, a yellowish tinge, inclining to livid, is diffused through the atmosphere; and that, in its most violent periods, the sun becomes of a deep red. Its odour is infectious and sulphureous; it is thick and heavy, and when its heat increases, it almost causes suffocation. It occasions a pretty copious perspiration, partly excited by the uneasiness which one feels, and the difficulty with which one breathes on account of its fœtid quality. This perspiration appeared to me more dense and viscous than the natural perspiration: the wind itself deposits an unctuous fluid. The better to examine its qualities and its nature, I opened my mouth to inhale it: the palate and throat were instantly parched. It produces the same effect when inhaled through the nostrils, but more slowly. To preserve one's self from it, and keep the respiration more free, it is usual to wrap up the face with a handkerchief. In passing through the tissue it loses a part of its action and of its destructive principle; and besides, the breath keeps up a degree of humidity, and hinders the burning air from suddenly penetrating into the mouth and lungs. The Arabs, therefore, are accustomed, whatever the heat may be, even in the shade, to wrap the whole body, not excepting the head, in their mesehlah (cloak), if they desire to sleep. This wind causes, by the rarefaction that attends it, a pretty strong agitation in the blood; and this increased move |