Where prostrate nations on Euphrates' shore,

Before thy bridegroom bow, and own his sovereign pow'r.

Thee anxious doubt, and lengthen'd toil await,

And unknown dangers, and mysterious fate!
Oh, vanity of man! the prize obtain'd

Now pains his soul: the statue is disdain'd.
Fear, love, remorse, his nightly couch infest,

And peace and hope are banish'd from his breast;
His eyes have drank the poison of desire,

And ev'ry throbbing vein is swell'd with fire.
The fairy's threat that rings within his ears,

The awful oath that chill'd his soul with fears,
Disdain'd, forgotten, have no power to move;

He deems all danger light, when weigh'd with love.
'Those heavenly graces, those unrivall'd charms,`
'Shall I betray them to another's arms?

From earth, from human kind, from life, divide
My hope, my joy, my mistress, and my bride,
With gloomy genii, and with dæmons fell,

'To mourn and tremble in the jaws of hell'

'The cruel fairy may, perchance, relent,

'Or pitying angels frustrate his intent.

'Justice at least must spare the faultless maid: By me alone the forfeit must be paid.

< "Twere base the stern condition to decline,

'And death is welcome, so the maid be mine.'

As when a mountain torrent, swoln with rain, Roaring descends to ruin all the plain;

The careful husbandman, with patient toil,

Through which the waters from the rescu'd land,

May waste their fury on the barren sand:

Huge stones, with earth compact, across its course
Gradual obstruct the foaming water's force,

Which struggling still, and bursting oft the mound,
More rapid pours along, with thund'ring sound:
At length the growing bulwark stems the sides;
The waves roll back, and the fierce storm subsides:
Mobarrek thus with prudent speech in vain

Strives long his master's passion to restrain,

To rash desire opposes generous fame,

His royal duties, and his people's claim;

But most his plighted faith and promise given,
And the dread oath's avenger, righteous heaven.
These, often urg'd, at length the palm obtain,
And manly reason re-assumes the rein.

Though keenest anguish rend his tortur'd heart,
Collecting all his strength, he braves the smart;
He mourns the fatal hour, when unconfin'd
The thirst of gain misled his darken'd mind;
But firm the strong temptation to defy,
Maintains his faith, and only hopes to die.

Nor less distracting doubt, and vary'd fear,
Afflict the tender bosom of the fair,

While day to day, and week to week succeeds,

And still the long unvaried march proceeds;

And all the pomp that first adorn'd the way,

And all the splendid train has slunk away;

No shouting nations her arrival greet;

No scepter'd bridegroom comes his bride to meet ;

Mobarrek with austere and careful brow,
One slave, one maid, alone, attend her now.
Yet still, where'er she moves, a sudden birth
Of fairest plants adorns the laughing earth:
O'er Afric's sandy waste fresh verdure springs,
And gurgling fountains rise, and zephyr brings
Cool airs, and scatters fragrance from his wings.
And ever, when most fiercely flames the day,

High o'er her head the waving branches play,

While through the grove ten thousand feather'd

throats

Pour the sweet charm of their melodious notes,

And all around their painted plumage show,

Dipt in all colours of the heavenly bow:

No lion there his horrid mane displays,

But the swift antelope will stop to gaze;

The playful squirrel springs from side to side,

While zebras bound along in beauteous pride.
And when pale night's unwholesome damps descend,

In fair proportion polish'd domes ascend;

By hands invisible the board is spread;

Another day unnumber'd torches shed,
And all around angelic voices sing,

While airy minstrels wake the trembling string.
The power of sleep the gentle music woos

To bathe her temples in his softest dews :

dreams:

Soft gliding on the silv'ry lunar beams,
The fav'ring power descends with rosy
Delights unmix'd, and pure, her mind pervade,
And sweetest smiles adorn the sleeping maid.
Upon the rocky shore at length they stood,
Where full in view, above the mighty flood

The fairy land arose. The gentle maid

Saw the vast deep, astonish'd and afraid.

'Is this Euphrates? Where are then the bowers, 'Themes of the song? Ah where Bassora's towers? 'These roaring waves approaching ills foreshew, 'And every howling blast seems full of woe.' Her guide no more the fatal fraud conceals,

But with sad brow, and falt'ring tongue, reveals