RECOLLECTIONS

OF

THE ARABIAN NIGHTS.

I.

WHEN the breeze of a joyful dawn blew free

In the silken sail of infancy,

The tide of time flow'd back with me,

The forward-flowing tide of time;

And many a sheeny summer-morn,
Adown the Tigris I was borne,
By Bagdat's shrines of fretted gold,
High-walled gardens green and old ;
True Mussulman was I and sworn,
For it was in the golden prime

Of good Haroun Alraschid.

RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ARABIAN NIGHTS.

II.

Anight my shallop, rustling thro'

The low and bloomed foliage, drove

The fragrant, glistening deeps, and clove
The citron-shadows in the blue:

By garden porches on the brim,
The costly doors flung open wide,
Gold glittering thro' lamplight dim,
And broider'd sofas on each side :

In sooth it was a goodly time,
For it was in the golden prime
Of good Haroun Alraschid.

III.

Often, where clear-stemm'd platans guard

The outlet, did I turn away

The boat-head down a broad canal

From the main river sluiced, where all

The sloping of the moon-lit sward

Was damask-work, and deep inlay

23

Of braided blooms unmown, which crept

Adown to where the waters slept.

A goodly place, a goodly time,

For it was in the golden prime

Of good Haroun Alraschid.

IV.

A motion from the river won

Ridged the smooth level, bearing on

My shallop through the star-strown calm,
Until another night in night

I enter'd, from the clearer light,

Imbower'd vaults of pillar'd palm,

Imprisoning sweets, which, as they clomb Heavenward, were stay'd beneath the dome Of hollow boughs.-A goodly time,

For it was in the golden prime

Of good Haroun Alraschid.

V.

Still onward; and the clear canal

Is rounded to as clear a lake.

From the green rivage many a fall
Of diamond rillets musical,

Thro' little crystal arches low

Down from the central fountain's flow
Fall'n silver-chiming, seem'd to shake
The sparkling flints beneath the prow.
A goodly place, a goodly time,
For it was in the golden prime
Of good Haroun Alraschid.

VI.

Above thro' many a bowery turn
A walk with vary-colour'd shells
Wander'd engrain'd. On either side
All round about the fragrant marge
From fluted vase, and brazen urn
In order, eastern flowers large,
Some dropping low their crimson bells
Half-closed, and others studded wide
With disks and tiars, fed the time

With odour in the golden prime
Of good Haroun Alraschid.

VII.

Far off, and where the lemon-grove

In closest coverture upsprung,

The living airs of middle night

Died round the bulbul as he sung;

Not he but something which possess'd

:

The darkness of the world, delight,

Life, anguish, death, immortal love,
Ceasing not, mingled, unrepress'd,
Apart from place, witholding time,
But flattering the golden prime
Of good Haroun Alraschid.

VIII.

Black the garden-bowers and grots

Slumber'd the solemn palms were ranged

Above, unwoo'd of summer wind:

A sudden splendour from behind

Flush'd all the leaves with rich gold-green,

And, flowing rapidly between