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But cried unto his captains: "We delay, And at these portals lose our time in vain,

By more than mortal terrors kept at bay:

"Come-other lands as goodly spoils contain;

Come-all too long untouched the Indian gold,

The pearls and spice of Araby remain!

"Come, and who will this riddle may


Then stood before him, careless of his ire,

An Indian sage, who rendered answer bold :

"Lord of the world, commanded to inquire

What was it that could satisfy an eye,

That organ of man's measureless desire

"By deed and word thou plainly dost reply,

That its desire can nothing tame or quell,

That it can never know sufficiency.

"While thou enlargest thy desire as hell, Filling thy hand, but filling not thy lust,

Thou dost proclaim man's eye insatiable:

"Such answer from thy lips were only just.

Yet 'twas not so. One came at last, who threw

Into yon face an heap of vilest dust

"Whereof a few small grains did fall into

And filled the orb and hollow of that eye;

When that which suffisance not ever knew

Before, was fain, 'I have enough,' to cry."



ON A FAIR ship, borne swiftly o'er the deep,

A man was lying, wrapt in dreamless sleep :

When unawares upon a sunken rock That vessel struck, and shattered with the shock.

But strange! the plank where lay the sleeper bore

Him, wrapt in deep sleep ever, to the shore:

It bore him safely through the foam and spray,

High up on land, where couched 'mid flowers he lay.

Sweet tones first woke him from his sleep, when round

His couch observant multitudes he found:

All hailed him then, and did before him bow,

And with one voice exclaimed,-"Our king art thou."

With jubilant applause they bore him

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When nothing of its pomp to thee remains

On that bare shore, save only memory's pains.

"Much, O my Prince! my words have thee distrest,

Thy head has sunk in sorrow on thy breast;

Yet idle sorrow helps not-I will show A wiser way which shall true help bestow.

This counsel take-to others given in vain,

While no belief from them my words might gain.

Know, then, whilst thou art monarch here, there stand

Helps for the future many at command;

Then, while thou canst, employ them to adorn

That island whither thou must once be borne.

Unbuilt and waste and barren now that strand,

There gush no fountains from the thirsty sand,

No groves of palm-trees have been planted there,

Nor plants of odorous scent perfume that air;

While all alike have shunned to contemplate

That they should ever change their flattering state.

But make thou there provision of delight,

Till that which now so threatens, may invite;

Bid there thy servants build up roval towers,

And change its barren sands to leafy bowers;

Bid fountains there be hewn, and cause to bloom Immortal amaranths, shedding rich perfume.

So when the world, which speaks thee now so fair

And flatters so, again shall strip thee bare,

And drive thee naked forth in harshest


Thou joyfully wilt seek thy paradise.

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