Classic Poem

When wild ambition fir'd the Caliph's mind,
To stretch his sceptre o'er the Syrian land;
Ne would his Saphadina stay behind,
Vain were his prayers and his entreaties bland,
Beside her lord she took her desp'rate stand:
O'er her pale face the mournful prince now hung,
Now press'd the coldness of her lily hand, —
Then by disdain, and love, and sorrow stung,
Into our thickest ranks most furiously he flung.