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! Now pains his soul: the statue is disdain'd. And peace and hope are banish'd from his breast; And ev'ry throbbing vein is swell'd with fire. The awful oath that chill'd his soul with fears, He deems all danger light, when weigh'd with love. From earth, from human kind, from life, divide '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 Which struggling still, and bursting oft the mound, 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, Though keenest anguish rend his tortur'd heart, Nor less distracting doubt, and vary'd fear, 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, 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. In fair proportion polish'd domes ascend; By hands invisible the board is spread; Another day unnumber'd torches shed, While airy minstrels wake the trembling string. To bathe her temples in his softest dews : dreams: Soft gliding on the silv'ry lunar beams, 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 |