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(From Lalla Rookh)
THE MORN hath risen clear and calm, | |
| And o’er the Green Sea palely shines, | |
| Revealing Bahrein’s groves of palm, | |
| And lighting Kishma’s amber vines. | |
| Fresh smell the shores of Araby, | 5 |
| While breezes from the Indian sea | |
| Blow round Selama’s sainted cape, | |
| And curl the shining flood beneath,— | |
| Whose waves are rich with many a grape, | |
| And cocoa-nut and flowery wreath, | 10 |
| Which pious seamen, as they passed, | |
| Had toward that holy headland cast,— | |
| Oblations to the Genii there | |
| For gentle skies and breezes fair! | |
| The nightingale now bends her flight | 15 |
| From the high trees, where all the night | |
| She sung so sweet, with none to listen, | |
| And hides her from the morning star | |
| Where thickets of pomegranate glisten | |
| In the clear dawn,—bespangled o’er | 20 |
| With dew, whose night-drops would not stain | |
| The best and brightest scimitar | |
| That ever youthful Sultan wore | |
| On the first morning of his reign! | |
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