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The wind-tower on the EMIR'S dome +
Can hardly win a breath from heaven.

Ev'n he, that tyrant Arab, sleeps
Calm, while a nation round him weeps;
While curses load the air he breathes,
And falchions from unnumber'd sheaths
Are starting to avenge the shame

His race hath brought on IRAN's' name,
Hard, heartless Chief, unmov'd alike
Mid eyes that weep and swords that strike; -
One of that saintly, murderous brood,
To carnage and the Koran given,
Who think through unbelievers' blood
Lies their directest path to heaven,
One, who will pause and kneel unshod
In the warm blood his hand hath pour'd,
To mutter o'er some text of God

6

Engraven on his reeking sword ; -

4 " At Gombaroon and other places in Persia, they have towers for the purpose of catching the wind, and cooling the houses."

Le Bruyn.

5 "Iran is the true general name for the empire of Persia." Asiat. Res. Disc. 5.

6" On the blades of their scimitars some Koran is usually inscribed. Russel.

verse from the

Nay, who can. coolly note the line,

The letter of those words divine,

To which his blade, with searching art,
Had sunk into its victim's heart!

Just ALLA! what must be thy look,

When such a wretch before thee stands

Unblushing, with thy Sacred Book,

Turning the leaves with blood-stain'd hands,

And wresting from its page sublime

His creed of lust and hate and crime?

Ev'n as those bees of TREBIZOND,

Which from the sunniest flowers that glad With their pure smile the gardens round, Draw venom forth that drives men mad!

Never did fierce ARABIA send

A satrap forth more direly great; Never was IRAN doom'd to bend

Beneath a yoke of deadlier weight.

Her throne had fall'n — her pride was crush'd —

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Her sons were willing slaves, nor blush'd,

7" There is a kind of Rhododendros about Trebizond, whose flowers the bee feeds upon, and the honey thence drives people mad." Tournefort.

In their own land, no more their own,
To crouch beneath a stranger's throne.

Her towers, where MITHRA once had burn'd,

To Moslem shrines - oh shame!

were turn'd,

Where slaves,, converted by the sword,
Their mean, apostate worship pour'd,
And curs'd the faith their sires ador'd.
Yet has she hearts, mid all this ill,
O'er all this wreck high buoyant still

With hope and vengeance; - hearts that yet,

Like

gems,

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in darkness issuing rays

They've treasur'd from the sun that's set, —

Beam all the light of long-lost days!

And swords she hath, nor weak nor slow
To second all such hearts can dare;
As he shall know, well, dearly know,
Who sleeps in moonlight luxury there,
Tranquil as if his spirit lay

Becalm'd in Heav'n's approving ray !

Sleep on for purer eyes than thine

Those waves are hush'd, those planets shine.

Sleep on, and be thy rest unmov'd

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By the white moonbeam's dazzling power;

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None but the loving and the lov'd
Should be awake at this sweet hour.

And see

where, high above those rocks That o'er the deep their shadows fling, Yon turret stands; where ebon locks,

As glossy as a heron's wing

Upon the turban of a king,

Hang from the lattice, long and wild, —
'Tis she, that EMIR's blooming child,
All truth and tenderness and grace,
Though born of such ungentle race; —
An image of Youth's radiant Fountain
Springing in a desolate mountain! 9

Oh what a pure and sacred thing
Is Beauty, curtain'd from the sight
Of the gross world, illumining

⚫ One only mansion with her light!

8" Their kings wear plumes of black herons' feathers upon the right side, as a badge of sovereignty.” — Hanway.

9" The Fountain of Youth, by a Mahometan tradition, is situated Richardson.

in some dark region of the east.".

Unseen by man's disturbing eye, —

The flower, that blooms beneath the sea Too deep for sunbeams, doth not lie Hid in more chaste obscurity! So, HINDA, have thy face and mind, Like holy mysteries, lain enshrin'd. And oh what transport for a lover

To lift the veil that shades them o'er !

Like those who, all at once, discover

In the lone deep some fairy shore, Where mortal never trod before, And sleep and wake in scented airs No lip had ever breath'd but theirs!

Beautiful are the maids that glide,

On summer-eves, through YEMEN's' dales, And bright the glancing looks they hide Behind their litters' roseate veils ;

And brides, as delicate and fair

As the white jasmine flowers they wear,
Hath YEMEN in her blissful clime,

Who, lull'd in cool kiosk or bower,

Arabia Felix.

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