Sketches in verse :: :: University of Virginia Library

Where the wild ostrich, 'mid the sands
Resigns her eggs to fostering day;
And camels, to the sabred bands
Obedient, track their fiery way;
An Arab wont to breathe his sighs,
To all the blasting winds that rise.

II

Now to the east where op'd his tent
Fast by a gushing brook's cool side,
His garment in despair he rent,
And to the unpitying desart cried:
Then, his eyes fasten'd to the ground,
His legs he crost, in grief profound.

III

“Ah, why, proud fair-one, slight my love?
Why were thy black eyes, large and soft
As any gazelle's of the grove?
Why have I call'd thine eyebrows, oft,
Two ebon bows, so finely archt,
If thus I waste away, love-parcht?

IV

Why thus thine eyelashes unfold
Darken'd with such a sable hue?
Why tincture thy smooth nails with gold,
Or stain thy parting lips with blue,
If thou condemn me still to pine,
Nor with thy sighings answer mine?

V

How my heart flutters, as I cast
On thy two heaving breasts, a glance—
Thy two pomegranates—or thy waist
More straight and supple than a lance;
Or mark, amid the starry night,
Thy steps, as the young filley's light.

VI

And ah! thy words as honey sweet—
Alas! they are not sweet to me!
Oft as I chance thy form to meet,
Some token of my woes I see!”
Thus mourn'd he Love's consuming power—
His frame its shadow yields no more.