The harems, full of Beauty's choicest flowers,
The burning censers of the Magian train,
The bright-plumed hosts careering on the plain,-
Where are they now? The lowly turf I tread,
On which the daisy lifts its yellow head,
Veils the past scene of splendor, — Genii, come! From cave and dell, your green and haunted home, Shed memory's tear, put wreaths of cypress on, And mourn Seleucia! weep for Ctesiphon!
By ruin struck, and yet unbowed by years,
One noble relic on this waste appears :
See! where yon lofty-raised stupendous wall
Nods o'er the desert mounds, but will not fall;
Beneath the mighty arch we wander slow,
On sand-heaped floors the thorn and thistle grow.
And here dwelt Khosru, Persia's tasteful king,
Lapped in each joy that power and splendor bring;
Here blazed that throne, all formed of pearls and gold,
Like sunset cloud round Mythra's chariot rolled ;
Here Indian slaves knelt down in glittering rows,
And Tyrian couches wooed to cool repose;
Breathed from a thousand urns each choice perfume,
Till fainting sweetness filled each dazzling room.
Here Barbud's hand the harp-strings swept along,
Till all the trembling air seemed steeped with song.
The soul in dreams half thought her in the skies,
Mistaking earth for star-bright Paradise.
THENCE, southward bending to the Orient, laves The Erythrean, with its ocean waves,
Of all earth's shores the fairest richest strand,
And noblest tribes possess that happy land.
First of all wonders, still forever soar
Sweet clouds of fragrance from that breathing shore.
The myrrh, the odorous cane, the cassia there,
And ever-ripening incense balms the air.
For in that land the all-ruling King on high
Set free young Bacchus from his close-bound thigh;
Broke odors from each tree at that fair birth,
And one unbounded fragrance filled the earth.
'Neath golden fleeces stooped the o'er-laden flocks,
And streams came bounding from the living rocks.
Birds from strange isles, and many an untrod shore,
With leaves of cinnamon, were flying o'er.
Loose from his shoulders hung the fawn-skin down,
In his fair hair was wreathed the ivy-crown:
Ruddy his lips with wine. He shook his wand,
Smiling, and wealth o'erflowed the gifted land.
Whence still the fields with liquid incense teem,
The hills with gold, with odors every stream;
And in their pride her sumptuous sons enfold
Their limbs in soft attire and robes of gold.
Dionysius. Tr. H. H. Milman.
This to comfort all his friends:
Faithful friends! It lies, I know,
Pale and white and cold as snow;
And ye say,
"Abdallah 's dead!"
Weeping at the feet and head.
I can see your falling tears,
I can hear your sighs and prayers ;
Yet I smile and whisper this,
"I am not the thing you kiss:
Cease your tears, and let it lie;
It was mine, it is not I."
Sweet friends! what the women lave,
For the last sleep of the grave,
Is a hut which I am quitting,
Is a garment no more fitting,
Is a cage from which, at last,
Like a bird, my soul hath passed.
Love the inmate, not the room,
The wearer, not the garb,
Of the eagle, not the bars
That kept him from those splendid stars.
Loving friends! Be wise and dry
Straightway every weeping eye:
What ye lift upon the bier
Is not worth a single tear.
'Tis an empty sea-shell,
Out of which the pearl has gone:
The shell is broken, it lies there;
The pearl, the all, the soul, is here.
"T is an earthen jar, whose lid
Allah sealed, the while it hid
That treasure of his treasury,
A mind that loved him: let it lie!
Let the shards be earth's once more,
Since the gold is in his store!
Allah glorious! Allah good!
Now thy world is understood;
Now the long, long wonder ends;
Yet ye weep, my foolish friends,
While the man whom ye call dead,
In unspoken bliss, instead,
Lives and loves you; lost, 't is true,
For the light that shines for you:
But in the light ye cannot see
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