 | Young Arthur |  |
And Allan he stood 'neath the sultry sky
Of the barren, yet beautiful, Araby.
Three divisions, two barren, one fertile, it owns—
Arabia Petræa, a region of stones;
Where the rock and the mountain for ever look drear,
And their heads awful Horeb and Sinai rear;
Reflection, go weep, by due horror oppress'd,
That the land by God's visible presence once bless'd,
His honour confounding, disclaiming his name,
In ignorance steel'd, boasts and triumphs in shame!
Arabia Deserta, where parching winds blow,
The sun burns above, and the sands scorch below.
Where the feet seem to tread, while the lungs heave for breath,
On the burning bridge Mussulmen cross after death.
But a region remains, and the Muse loves the scene,—
Arabia the happy smiles, fertile, and green;
There rolls the Euphrates, which proudly can boast
It water'd the Paradise Adam soon lost;
Near Erzerum, in Turkish Armenia, its head,
Where the caravans rest on a nitrous bed;
Erzerum for drugs, furs, and cottons, far fam'd,
And the web of the silk-worm, for luxury fram'd;
Euphrates, whose waters from mountain tops flow
Which glitter for ever, encrusted with snow;
Armenia (the Turcoman's region) it parts
From Natolia, devoid of or culture or arts;
Parts Diarbec (where Tigris impetuously flies)
From Syria, where sanctified Palestine lies;
Thro' Irac-Arabia fertility leaves,
And the waters of Tigris, as tribute, receives
By the Persian Kursistan; then laves, not the least,
Bassorah, renown'd in the Tales of the East;
Then enters the gulph of the Shah's domain,
Where ignorance, lust, and base luxury reign:
It bounds, the parch'd desart, but, distantly plac'd,
Nor refreshes the wand'rer, nor waters the waste.
Here the waves of the ocean of India spread:
Here heaves that fam'd sea ever restless and red;
Thro' which Israel pass'd, by the heavenly word,
While the waves, rais'd like ramparts, a passage afford,
And Pharoah he follow'd, in heaven's despite;
The waters roar'd scorn at his impotent might,
And, ingulphing, involv'd him for ever in night!
In whose bed, as old legends and chronicles tell,
The spirits departed are destined to dwell;
The magical charm of the mystical prayer,
And the Cross and the Cowl, ever binding them there.
And rough are its waves and the waters red,
For red is the sand of its shores and bed;
And restless its waves, like the spirits it binds,
And the sand a swift current still upward finds;
There toss'd, and for ever, it tints the flood
And ever it seems to flow with blood.
So barren the region that form's its shore,
A spring is a mine beyond golden ore;
And a spring once found is an heavenly friend,
And the parching tribes for the prize contend;
Precious the treasure, and dire the strife,
And each drinks at the price of contested life.
Of the barren, yet beautiful, Araby.
Three divisions, two barren, one fertile, it owns—
Arabia Petræa, a region of stones;
Where the rock and the mountain for ever look drear,
And their heads awful Horeb and Sinai rear;
Reflection, go weep, by due horror oppress'd,
That the land by God's visible presence once bless'd,
171
In ignorance steel'd, boasts and triumphs in shame!
Arabia Deserta, where parching winds blow,
The sun burns above, and the sands scorch below.
Where the feet seem to tread, while the lungs heave for breath,
On the burning bridge Mussulmen cross after death.
But a region remains, and the Muse loves the scene,—
Arabia the happy smiles, fertile, and green;
There rolls the Euphrates, which proudly can boast
It water'd the Paradise Adam soon lost;
Near Erzerum, in Turkish Armenia, its head,
Where the caravans rest on a nitrous bed;
Erzerum for drugs, furs, and cottons, far fam'd,
And the web of the silk-worm, for luxury fram'd;
Euphrates, whose waters from mountain tops flow
Which glitter for ever, encrusted with snow;
Armenia (the Turcoman's region) it parts
From Natolia, devoid of or culture or arts;
172
From Syria, where sanctified Palestine lies;
Thro' Irac-Arabia fertility leaves,
And the waters of Tigris, as tribute, receives
By the Persian Kursistan; then laves, not the least,
Bassorah, renown'd in the Tales of the East;
Then enters the gulph of the Shah's domain,
Where ignorance, lust, and base luxury reign:
It bounds, the parch'd desart, but, distantly plac'd,
Nor refreshes the wand'rer, nor waters the waste.
Here the waves of the ocean of India spread:
Here heaves that fam'd sea ever restless and red;
Thro' which Israel pass'd, by the heavenly word,
While the waves, rais'd like ramparts, a passage afford,
And Pharoah he follow'd, in heaven's despite;
The waters roar'd scorn at his impotent might,
And, ingulphing, involv'd him for ever in night!
In whose bed, as old legends and chronicles tell,
The spirits departed are destined to dwell;
The magical charm of the mystical prayer,
And the Cross and the Cowl, ever binding them there.
173
For red is the sand of its shores and bed;
And restless its waves, like the spirits it binds,
And the sand a swift current still upward finds;
There toss'd, and for ever, it tints the flood
And ever it seems to flow with blood.
So barren the region that form's its shore,
A spring is a mine beyond golden ore;
And a spring once found is an heavenly friend,
And the parching tribes for the prize contend;
Precious the treasure, and dire the strife,
And each drinks at the price of contested life.
The Mahometans believe they must cross a red hot iron bridge to Paradise: and that, to preserve their feet from the fire, every piece of paper they have preserved while on earth, with the name of Alla written on it, will come and place itself under their feet: for this reason, they are extremely careful in securing all chance throws in their way.
| Young Arthur | |