And deep myrrh-thickets blowing round The stately cedar, tamarisks, Thick roseries of scented thorn, Tall orient shrubs, and obelisks In honour of the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid. XI. With dazed vision unawares From the long alley's latticed shade Emerged, I came upon the great Pavilion of the Caliphat. Right to the carven cedarn doors, Of good Haroun Alraschid. XII. The fourscore windows all alight As with the quintessence of flame, A million tapers flaring bright From twisted silvers look'd to shame The hollow-vaulted dark, and stream'd In inmost Bagdat, till there seem'd Of night new-risen, that marvellous time, To celebrate the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid. XIII. Then stole I up, and trancedly 309 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ARABIAN NIGHTS. In many a dark delicious curl, Flowing beneath her rose-hued zone ; Well worthy of the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid. XIV. Six columns, three on either side, Throne of the massive ore, from which With inwrought flowers, a cloth of gold. With merriment of kingly pride, Sole star of all that place and time, I saw him-in his golden prime, THE GOOD HAROUN ALRASCHID ! ODE TO MEMORY. I. THOU who stealest fire, From the fountains of the past, To glorify the present; oh, haste, Visit my low desire! Strengthen me, enlighten me! I faint in this obscurity, Thou dewy dawn of memory. II. Come not as thou camest of late, Flinging the gloom of yesternight On the white day; but robed in soften'd light Of orient state. Whilome thou camest with the morning mist, Even as a maid, whose stately brow The dew-impearled winds of dawn have kiss'd, Stays on her floating locks the lovely freight Of orient green, giving safe pledge of fruits, The black earth with brilliance rare. III. Whilome thou camest with the morning mist, And with the evening cloud, Showering thy gleaned wealth into my open breast, (Those peerless flowers which in the rudest wind Never grow sere, When rooted in the garden of the mind, Because they are the earliest of the year). Nor was the night thy shroud. In sweet dreams softer than unbroken rest Thou leddest by the hand thine infant Hope, |