Tower'd not on Yemen's happy hills, Nor crown'd the stately brow of Lebanon. Fabric so vast, so lavishly enrich'd,

For Idol, or for Tyrant, never yet

Rais'd the slave race of man,

In Rome, nor in the elder Babylon,
Nor old Persepolis,

Nor where the family of Greece
Hymn'd Eleutherian Jove.

Here studding azure tablatures
And ray'd with feeble light,

Star-like the ruby and the diamond shone:

Here on the golden towers

The yellow moon-beam lay,

Here with white splendour floods the silver wall. Less wonderous pile and less magnificent Sennamar built at Hirah, though his art Seal'd with one stone the ample edifice, And made its colours, like the serpent's skin, Play with a changeful beauty: him, its Lord, Jealous lest after effort might surpass The now unequall'd palace, from its height Dash'd on the pavement down.

They enter'd, and through aromatic paths
Wondering they went along.

At length, upon a mossy bank,

Beneath a tall mimosa's shade, Which o'er him bent its living canopy,

They saw a man reclin❜d.

Young he appear'd, for on his cheek there shone The morning glow of health,

And the brown beard curl'd close around his chin. He slept, but at the sound

Of coming feet awaking, fix'd his eyes

In wonder, on the wanderer and her child.

66

Forgive us," Zeinab cried,

"Distress hath made us bold.

Relieve the widow and the fatherless!
Blessed are they who succour the distrest;
For them hath God appointed Paradise."
He heard, and he look'd up to heaven,
And tears ran down his cheeks:

"It is a human voice!

I thank thee, O my God!

How many an age hath past

Since the sweet sounds have visited my ear!
I thank thee, O my God,

It is a human voice !"

To Zeinab turning then he cried, "O mortal, who art thou

Whose gifted eyes have pierced

The shadow of concealment that hath wrapt

These bowers, so many an age,
From eye of mortal man?

For countless years have past,

And never foot of man

The bowers of Irem trod,

Save only I, a miserable wretch

From Heaven and Earth shut out!"

Fearless, and scarce surpris'd,

For grief in Zeinab's soul

All other feebler feelings overpower'd,

She answer'd, "Yesterday

I was a wife belov❜d,

The fruitful mother of a numerous race.

I am a widow now,

Of all my offspring this alone is left.

Praise to the Lord our God,

He gave, he takes away!"

Then said the stranger, "Not by Heaven unseen, Nor in unguided wanderings hast thou reach'd This secret place, be sure !

Nor for light purpose is the Veil,

That from the Universe hath long shut out These ancient bowers, withdrawn.

Hear thou my words, O mortal, in thy heart Treasure what I shall tell;

And when amid the world

Thou shalt emerge again,

Repeat the warning tale.

Why have the Fathers suffer'd, but to make The children wisely safe?

"The Paradise of Irem this,
And that the palace pile
Which Shedad built, the King.

Alas! in the days of my youth
The hum of the populous world
Was heard in yon wilderness waste!

O'er all the winding sands

The tents of Ad were pitch'd;
Happy Al-Ahkaf then,

For many and brave were her sons,
Her daughters were many and fair.

"My name was Aswad then-
Alas! alas! how strange
The sound so long unheard!

Of noble race I came,

One of the wealthy of the earth my sire.
An hundred horses in my father's stalls
Stood ready for his will;

Numerous his robes of silk,

The number of his camels was not known.
These were my heritance,

O God! thy gifts were these ;

But better had it been for Aswad's soul
Had he ask'd alms on earth,

And begg'd the crumbs which from his table fell,
So he had known thy word.

"Boy, who hast reach'd my solitude,
Fear the Lord in the days of thy youth!
My knee was never taught

To bend before my God;
My voice was never taught

To shape one holy prayer.

We worshipp'd Idols, wood and stone,
The work of our own foolish hands;
We worshipp'd in our foolishness.
Vainly the Prophet's voice
Its frequent warning rais'd,

'REPENT, AND BE FORGIVEN !'

We mock'd the messenger of God,

We mock'd the Lord, long-suffering, slow to wrath.