IV.
That evil thing, Sensual Pleasure, leadeth astray another.
Mournfully onwards went the three,
They cannot turn nor wait,—
O, if they should not reach the town,
Ere closing of the gate!
The hot sun glows, no palm-tree throws
Its shadow o'er the way,
And, parched with thirst, they faint beneath
The burden of the day.
They see some camels near a tent
Where other wayfarers rest,
Who, as they pass, with courtesy
The weary band addrest.
They bid them drown their thirst in wine,
And hold a goblet up,—
One turns aside into the tent,
And quaffs the mantling cup:
He thought of the long weary way,
And then he sate him down;—
O wretched he who ne'er may see
The marble-templed town!
