Classic Poem

When all the splendid pomp of pride declines,
In native lustre virtue brighter shines
My rising sun, meridian beams have crown'd,
And equal glory gilds its western bound;
For still, unconscious of ignoble stains,
High beats the purple tide through Hassan's veins;
Tho' far I fly from Zaura's fair domain,
Nor mine the camels on her sandy plain.
As, when corroding damps and dews impair
The sabre's temper'd edge, exposed and bare,
So now deserted by my friends, I stray
Thro' burning wastes of sand, and desarts grey;
No kind companion left to soothe my woe,
Or share my joy with sympathetic glow.
In the hot gale my quivering lances sigh,
My moaning camels piteously reply;
Harassed, fatigued, they sink with wasting pain,
While frail attendants querulous complain.
Bred in the desart sands, an Arab bold,
I keenly sallied forth in quest of gold;
And thought, when gold should all my dangers crown,
From generous deeds to claim a just renown:
For riches bid the generous mind expand,
And copious bounty ope the liberal hand:
But Time has now reversed these visions gay,
Content with safety, I forego the prey,
Far other thoughts inspired my ardent breast,
When last I journey'd o'er this sultry waste;
Pleased, by my side, I saw my friend advance,
Of stature lofty as his tapering lance;
In mirth jocose, in counsel grave, severe
In temper'd softness, unalloy'd by fear:—
While Night emits dull Slumber's drowsy hive,
Far from his eyes their humming flight I drive;
While on their camel-sedans, all incline,
Giddy with Sleep's mebriating wine.
“Did I not call thee to a hard emprize,
“And wilt thou shrink when dangers round us rise?
“Dost sleep, while wakes yon star's refulgent eye,
“Ere yet the ambient hue of darkness fly?
“The camels urge; our journey's end draws near;
“And bold adventure still disperses fear.
“Be ours, thro' Thoal's archer-bands to gain
“The sprightly troops that camp on Edom's plain.
“Sweet maids! how graceful curl your locks of jet,
“While rubies sparkle thro' their waving net!
“The gales that round your perfum'd temples play,
“Will, by their fragrant breath, direct our way,
“Where, timorous as the fawn, you hide your fears
“Amid the thick encircling grove of spears.
“We seek the lovely maids of yonder vale,
“But lions guard where love would fain assail;
“Their dauntless spearmen every fear defy,
“Warmed by the beams of each black rolling eye.
“While generous deeds their liberal minds inflame,
“Frugal and modest, blooms each beauteous dame;
“The flames these warriors on the mountains raise
“Invite the traveller by their welcome blaze;
“While Love's soft flames, which these dear maids inspire,
“Glow, in his breast, with unextinguished fire.
“Slain by these heroes in their tented halls,
“To grace the feast, the steed, the camel falls;
“Beneath the glance of each soft female eye,
“Devoid of life, their charm-struck lovers lie;
“'Tis here, the anguish of the warrior's wound,
“In cups of homed wine, is quickly drown'd,
“And sure, if here I longer should remain,
“Some balmy breeze would mitigate my pain;
“Nor wounds, nor arrows shall my bosom rue,
“From quiver'd eyes of ample rolling blue;
“Nor shall my heart the glittering sabres dread,
“From curtain'd veils, where Thoal's maids are hid,
“Nor yet from gazels gay, that I adore,
“Shall I retreat, tho' lions round me roar.”
While o'er these sands our fearless course we held,
Such glowing words my ventrous band impell'd.
Now danger drives me far from pomp and power,
To spend in drowsy sloth each lingering hour.
In drowsy sloth! but let me first prepare
To scale the regions of the desart air;
Or cavern'd deep from mortal view, to dwell
Within the centre of the earth's vast shell;
Content to leave the heights of power sublime
For those that dare the steeps of glory climb.
Content degrades the peasant's abject race,
But Fame attends the camel's hastening pace.
Then rouze my camels, let us forward haste,
And fearless plunge amid Arabia's waste;
While, as we lightly trace each sandy plain
Your curbs shall reach the swiftest courser's rein.
'Tis fame commands my wandering steps to range,
And says, that glory only waits on change,
For, would the Sun, if Glory dwelt on high,
Desert his mansion of meridian sky?
But while my steps to dangers new I bend,
Will Fortune's fickle smiles my course attend;
I call'd her once, but she disdain'd to hear,
Tho' fools alone had caught her listening ear;
Yet could intrinsic worth have gained relief,
False Fortune had not to my call been deaf.
But Hope smiles radiant o'er each future plan,
Hope, that illumes the narrow sphere of man.—
Weak Hope! wilt thou, when waning years decay,
Transcend the bliss of life's advancing day?
Ah no! when Life and Fortune's smiles were new,
Their pleasures ne'er my fixed affections drew;
My spirit, conscious of its worth innate,
Still spurn'd the base, and brav'd the frowns of Fate,
Which oft condemns in indolence to pine,
The powers, in Glory's path, that brightest shine;
As the keen sabre gleams in empty show,
Till warrior-arms impress the fateful blow.
Ne'er did I think that doom'd by Fate's decree,
These eyes the empire of the vile should see.
Now foremost creep the base in Glory's race,
Whose speed once equall'd not my slowest pace.
Such is the meed of him whose tardy age
Sees every friend desert this earthly stage;
Thus flag the brave, in Glory's fair career;
Thus rolls the Sun, beneath cold Saturn's sphere.
Then rouse, my soul, in Fate's resistless day,
Repel impatient Grief's usurping sway;
Roll'd in thyself, all aid of mortals spurn,
Nor trust a treacherous friend, his guile to mourn.
Lives there a man, the phœnix of his race,
'Tis he that spurns each feigning friend's embrace.
Truth fades, while wide the thorn of falsehood grows,
And men's false deeds their flattering words oppose;
Nor one to keep his plighted faith prepares,
Till o'er his head the burnish'd sabre glares.
Then weak the mind, unmov'd by such disgrace,
To view, with due contempt, the miscreant race:
For hosts of lies against the truth combine,
As bending curves distort the equal line.
And thou, that after youth unvext with pain,
The muddy dregs of turbid life wouldst drain;
If one poor cup thy parching thirst could slake,
Say, wouldst thou plunge in Ocean's boundless lake?
He reigns, alone, the sovereign of his soul,
Whom neither fears nor foreign cares controul;
Who hopes not, fondly, in his tented dome,
Unaltered still, to find a lasting home;
For who hath heard, or who shall ever hear
Of domes unaltered, in this changeful sphere.
Sages, who musing deep the course explore
Of things that are, and things that are no more,
Hide, in your breasts, the strange mysterious plan,
Since silence best becomes the lot of man.
Not mortal might can stay the ceaseless course
Of Fate, that rules us with resistless force.
Even you may wander from your homes exil'd,
With wayward camels, through the sandy wild.