Or moss-crowned fountains mitigate the day, In vain ye hope the green delights to know, Which plains more blest, or verdant vales be stow : Here rocks alone, and tasteless sands, are found, And faint and sickly winds forever howl around. 'Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day, When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way!' "Curst be the gold and silver which per suade Weak men to follow far fatiguing trade! Why heed we not, whilst mad we haste along, The gentle voice of peace, or pleasure's song? Or wherefore think the flowery mountain's side, The fountain's murmurs, and the valley's pride, Why think we these less pleasing to behold Than dreary deserts, if they lead to gold? 'Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day, When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way!' "O cease, my fears! - all frantic as I go, When thought creates unnumbered scenes of woe, What if the lion in his rage I meet! - Gaunt wolves and sullen tigers in his train: way, Fills the wild yell, and leads them to their prey. 'Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day, When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way!' "At that dead hour the silent asp shall creep, If aught of rest I find, upon my sleep : They tempt no deserts, and no griefs they find; Peace rules the day, where reason rules the mind. 'Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day, When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way!' "O hapless youth!-- for she thy love hath won. The tender Zara will be most undone! Big swelled my heart, and owned the powerful maid, When fast she dropt her tears, as thus she said: 'Farewell the youth whom sighs could not de tain; Whom Zara's breaking heart implored in vain! |