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«A mighty work the pride of Shiedad plann'd, Here in the wilderness to form

A garden more surpassing fair

Than that before whose gate

The lightning of the Cherub's fiery sword
Waves wide to bar access,

Since Adam, the transgressor, thence was driven.
Here, too, would Shedad build

A kingly pile sublime,
The palace of his pride.
For this exhausted mines
Supplied their golden store,

For this the central caverns gave their gems;
For this the woodman's axe

Open'd the cedar forest to the sun;
The silkworm of the East

Spun her sepulchral egg;

The hunter African

Provok'd the danger of the elephant's wrath; The Ethiop, keen of scent,

Detects the ebony,9

That deep-incarthi'd, and hating light,
A leafless tree and barren of all fruit,

With darkness feeds her boughs of raven grain.
Such were the treasures lavished in yon pile;

Ages have past away,

And never mortal eye Gazed on their vanity.

XX!I.

« The garden,-copious springs
Blest that delightful spot,

And every flower was planted there
That makes the gale of evening sweet.
He spake, and bade the full-grown forest rise,
His own creation; should the King
Wait for slow Nature's work?
All trees that bend with luscious fruit,
Or wave with feathery boughs,
Or point their spiring heads to heaven,
Or spreading wide their shadowy arms,
Invite the traveller to repose at noon,
Hither, uprooted with their native soil,
The labour and the pain of multitudes,
Mature in beauty, bore them.

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«The work of pride went on-
Often the Prophet's voice
Denounced impending woe-
We mock'd at the words of the Seer.
We mock'd at the wrath of the Lord.
A long-continued drought first troubled us;
Three years no cloud had form'd,
Three years no rain had fallen;
The wholesome herb was dry,

The corn matur'd not for the food of man,
The wells and fountains fail'd.
O hard of heart, in whom the punishment
Awoke no sense of guilt!
Headstrong to ruin, obstinately blind,
We to our Idols still applied for aid;
Sakia we invok'd for rain,

We called on Razeka for food

10

They did not hear our prayers, they could not hear! No cloud appear'd in Heaven,

No nightly dews came down.

XXIV.

<< Then to the place of concourse 11 messengers Were sent, to Mecca, where the nations came, Round the Red Hillock kneeling, to implore God in his favour'd place.

We sent to call on God;

Ah fools! unthinking that from all the earth The heart ascends to him.

We sent to call on God;

Ah fools! to think the Lord
Would hear their prayers abroad,
Who made no prayers at home!

XXV.

«Meantime the work of pride went on, And still before our Idols, wood and stone, We bow'd the impious knee. Turn, men of Ad, and call upon the Lord,' The Prophet Houd exclaim'd; Turn men of Ad, and look to Heaven, And fly the wrath to come.' We mock'd the Prophet's words;Now dost thou dream, old man, Or art thou drunk with wine? Future woe and wrath to come, Still thy prudent voice forebodes; When it comes will we believe,

Till it comes will we go on In the way our fathers went. Now are thy words from God? Or dost thou dream, old man, Or art thou drunk with wine?'

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The day of visitation was at hand,
The fearful hour of judgment hastened on.
Lo Shedad's mighty pile complete,
The palace of his pride.

Would ye behold its wonders, enter in!

I have no heart to visit it.

Time hath not harm'd the eternal monument; Time is not here, nor days, nor months, nor years, An everlasting Now of misery!—

Ye must have heard their fame,
Or likely ye have seen

The mighty Pyramids,—

For sure those mighty piles have overlived
The feeble generations of mankind.

What, though unmov'd they bore the deluge weight,14
Survivors of the ruined world?

What though their founder fill'd with miracles
And wealth miraculous their ample vaults?
Compar'd with yonder fabric, and they shrink

The baby wonders of a woman's work!
Here emerald columns o'er the marble courts
Fling their green rays, as when amid a shower
The sun shines loveliest on the vernal corn.
Here Shedad bade the sapphire floor be laid,
As though with feet divine

To trample azure light,
Like the blue pavement of the firmament.
Here self-suspended hangs in air,

As its pure substance loath'd material touch,
The living carbuncle; 15

Sun of the lofty dome,

Darkness hath no dominion o'er its beams;

Intense it glows, an ever-flowing tide

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Was lost in Paradise.

Therefore at Shedad's voice

Here towered the palm, a silver trunk,
The fine gold net-work 17 growing out

Loose from its rugged boughs.
Tall as the Cedar of the mountain, here
Rose the gold branches, hung with emerald leaves,
Blossom'd with pearls, and rich with ruby fruit.
O Ad! my country! evil was the day
That thy unhappy sons
Crouch'd at this Nimrod's throne, 18
And placed on him the pedestal of
And laid their liberties beneath his feet,
Robbing their children of the heritance

18

power,

Their fathers handed down. What was to him the squander'd wealth? What was to him the burthen of the land, The lavish'd misery?

He did but speak his will,

And, like the blasting Siroc of the East, The ruin of the royal voice Found its way every-where.

I marvel not that he, whose power No earthly law, no human feeling curb'd, Mock'd at the living God!

XXVIII.

« And now the King's command went forth
Among the people, bidding old and young,
Husband and wife, the master and the slave,

All the collected multitudes of Ad,
Here to repair, and hold high festival,
That he might see his people, they behold
Their King's magnificence and power.
The day of festival arriv'd;

Hither they came, the old man and the boy, Husband and wife, the master and the slave, Ilither they came. From yonder high tower top,

The loftiest of the Palace, Shedad look'd Down on his tribe their tents on yonder sands Rose like the countless billows of the sea; Their tread and voices like the ocean roar, One deep confusion of tumultuous sounds. They saw their King's magnificence; beheld His palace sparkling like the Angel domes Of Paradise; his garden like the bowers Of early Eden, and they shouted out, 'Great is the King! a God upon the earth!'

XXIX.

«Intoxicate with joy and pride,
He heard their blasphemies;

And in his wantonness of heart he bade

The Prophet Houd be brought;

And o'er the marble courts,
And o'er the gorgeous rooms
Glittering with gems and gold,

He led the Man of God.

'Is not this a stately pile?' Cried the Monarch in his Joy.

'Hath ever eye beheld,
Hath ever thought conceiv'd,
Place more magnificent?

Houd, they say that Heaven imparted
To thy lips the words of wisdom!
Look at the riches round,
And value them aright,

If so thy wisdom can.'

ΧΧΧ.

«The Prophet heard his vaunt,

And, with an awful smile, he answer'd him, 'O Shedad! only in the hour of death 19 We learn to value things like these aright.'

XXXI.

«Hast thou a fault to find
In all thine eyes have seen?'
Again the King exclaim'd.
'Yea!' said the man of God;

'The walls are weak, the building ill secur'd. Azrael can enter in!

The Sarsar can pierce through,
The Icy Wind of Death.'

XXXII.

«I was beside the Monarch when he spakeGentle the Prophet spake,

But in his eye there dwelt

A sorrow that disturb'd me while I gaz'd.
The countenance of Shedad fell,
And anger sat upon his paler lips.
He to the high tower-top the Prophet led,
And pointed to the multitude;

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And called on God for rain.

My prayer ascended, and was heard;
Three clouds appear'd in heaven.

One white, and like the flying cloud of noon,
One red, as it had drunk the evening beams,
One black and heavy with its load of rain.
A voice went forth from heaven,
'Chuse, Kail, of the three!

I thank'd the gracious Power,

And chose the black cloud, heavy with its wealth.' 'Right! right! a thousand tongues exclaim'd, And all was merriment and joy.

XXXVI.

Then stood the Prophet up, and cried aloud,

'Woe, woe to Irem! woe to Ad! DEATH is gone up into her palaces! Woe! woe! a day of guilt and punishment, A day of desolation!-As he spake, His large eye roll'd in horror, and so deep His tone, it seem'd some Spirit from within Breath'd through his moveless lips10 the unearthly voice. All looks were turn'd to him. 'O Ad!' he cried, 'Dear native land, by all remembrances Of childhood, by all joys of manhood dear; O Vale of many Waters; morn and night My age must groan for you, and to the grave Go down in sorrow. Thou wilt give thy fruits, But who shall gather them? thy grapes will ripen, But who shall tread the wine-press? Fly the wrath, Ye who would live and save your souls alive! For strong is his right hand that bends the Bow, The arrows that he shoots are sharp, And err not from their aim! 21

XXXVII.

« With that a faithful few

Prest through the throng to join him. Then arose
Mockery and mirth; 'Go, bald head!' and they mix'd
Curses with laughter. He set forth, yet once
Look'd back:-his eye fell on me, and he call'd
'Aswad! it startled me-it terrified,-
Aswad!' again he call'd,-and I almost
Had followed him-O moment fled too soon!
O moment irrecoverably lost!

The shouts of mockery made a coward of me;
He went, and I remained, in fear of MAN!

XXXVIII.

« He went, and darker grew
The deepening cloud above.

At length it open'd, and-O God! O God!

There were no waters there!

There fell no kindly rain!

The Sarsar from its womb went forth, The Icy Wind of Death.

ΧΧΧΙΧ.

«They fell around me, thousands fell around,
The King and all his People fell.
All! all! they perish'd all!
I-only I was left.

There came a voice to me and said,

In the Day of Visitation,
In the fearful hour of Judgment,
God hath remember'd thee.'

XL.

« When from an agony of prayer I rose, And from the scene of death

Attempted to go forth,
The way was open, I beheld
No barrier to my steps.

But round these bowers the Arm of God
Had drawn a mighty chain,

A barrier that no human force might break. Twice I essay'd to pass.

With that a voice was heard,

'O Aswad, be content, and bless the Lord! One righteous deed hath sav'd

Thy soul from utter death.
O Aswad, sinful man!
When by long penitence
Thou feel'st thy soul prepar'd,
Breathe up the wish to die,

And Azrael comes, obedient to the prayer.'

XLI.

« A miserable man,

From Earth and Heaven shut out,
I heard the dreadful voice,

I look'd around my prison place;
The bodies of the dead were there,
Where'er I look'd they lay.
They moulder'd, moulder'd here,-
Their very bones have crumbled into dust,
So many years have past!
So many weary ages have gone by!
And still I linger here!

Still groaning with the burthen of my sins,
Have never dar'd to breathe
The prayer to be releas'd.

XLII.

«O! who can tell the unspeakable misery Of solitude like this!

No sound hath ever reach'd my ear
Save of the passing wind-
The fountain's everlasting flow,
The forest in the gale,
The pattering of the shower,
Sounds dead and mournful all.
No bird hath ever clos'd her wing
Upon these solitary bowers;

No insect sweetly buzz'd amid these groves,
From all things that have life,

Save only me, conceal'd.

This Tree alone, that o'er my head
Hangs down its hospitable boughs,
And bends its whispering leaves

As though to welcome me,
Seems to partake of life;

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I love it as my friend, my only friend!

XLIII.

« I know not for what ages I have dragg'd This miserable life;

How often I have seen

These ancient trees renew'd,

What countless generations of mankind
Have risen and fallen asleep,
And I remain the same!

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