Cosmo De' Medici An Historical Tragedy: And Other Poems: By Richard Hengist Horne |
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 | Cosmo De' Medici |  |
V.
There do we see the Merchants
Smoking with grave pretence;
There, too, the humble dealers
In cassia and frankincense;
And many a Red-Sea mariner,
Swept from its weedy waves,
Who comes to sell his coral rough,
Torn from its rocks and caves,—
With red clay for the potteries,
Which careful baking craves.
Smoking with grave pretence;
There, too, the humble dealers
In cassia and frankincense;
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Swept from its weedy waves,
Who comes to sell his coral rough,
Torn from its rocks and caves,—
With red clay for the potteries,
Which careful baking craves.
There, too, the Bedouin Tumblers
Roll round like rapid wheels,
Or tie their bodies into knots,
Hiding both head and heels:
Now standing on each other's heads,
They race about the Fair,
Or with strange energies inspired
Leap high into the air,
And wanton thus above the sand
In graceful circles rare.
Roll round like rapid wheels,
Or tie their bodies into knots,
Hiding both head and heels:
Now standing on each other's heads,
They race about the Fair,
Or with strange energies inspired
Leap high into the air,
And wanton thus above the sand
In graceful circles rare.
There sit the Opium-eaters,
Chanting their gorgeous dreams;
While some, with hollow faces,
Seem lit by ghastly gleams,—
Dumb—and with fixed grimaces!
Chanting their gorgeous dreams;
While some, with hollow faces,
Seem lit by ghastly gleams,—
Dumb—and with fixed grimaces!
There dance the Arab maidens,
With burnish'd limbs all bare,
Caught by the Moon's keen silver
Through frantic jets of hair!
O, naked Moon! O, wondrous face!
Eternal sadness—beauty—grace—
Smile on the passing human race!
With burnish'd limbs all bare,
Caught by the Moon's keen silver
Through frantic jets of hair!
O, naked Moon! O, wondrous face!
Eternal sadness—beauty—grace—
Smile on the passing human race!
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Trumpets and tympans sound
'Neath the moon's brilliant round,
Which doth entrance
Each passionate dance,
And glows or flashes
'Mid cymbal clashes,
Rich jewell'd sashes,
Cap, turban, and tiàra.
In a tossing sea
Of ecstasy,
At the Fair of Almachàra!
'Neath the moon's brilliant round,
Which doth entrance
Each passionate dance,
And glows or flashes
'Mid cymbal clashes,
Rich jewell'd sashes,
Cap, turban, and tiàra.
In a tossing sea
Of ecstasy,
At the Fair of Almachàra!
| Cosmo De' Medici | |