By birth, by music, and Th' imperial Selim held a feast In whose saloons, when the first star mouth. Maids from the west, with sun-bright hair, And from the Garden of the Nile, Delicate as the roses there; Daughters of Love from Cyprus' rocks, In their own bright Kathaian bowers, That they might fancy the rich flowers Thou loveliest, dearest of them all, Was like that star, on starry nights, To do its best in witchery, Of her loved lute had magic in it. The board was spread with fruits and wine, With grapes of gold, like those that shine On Casbin's hills; - pomegranates full Of melting sweetness, and the pears And sunniest apples that Caubul In all its thousand gardens bears; Plantains, the golden and the green, Malaya's nectar'd mangusteen; Prunes of Bokara, and sweet nuts From the far groves of Samarcand, And Basra dates, and apricots, Seed of the sun, from Iran's land; All these in richest vases smile, In baskets of pure santal-wood And urns of porcelain from that isle Sunk underneath the Indian flood, Whence oft the lucky diver brings Vases to grace the halls of kings. Wines too, of every clime and hue, Around their liquid lustre threw : Amber Rosolli, the bright dew From vineyards of the Green Sea gushing; And Shiraz wine, that richly ran As if that jewel, large and rare, The ruby, for which Kublai-Khan Melted within the goblets there! And amply Selim quaffs of each, And seems resolved the floods shall reach His inward heart, shedding around A genial deluge, as they run, That soon shall leave no spot undrown'd, Can float upon a goblet's streams, As bards have seen him, in their dreams, That with his image shone beneath. But what are cups without the aid Of song to speed them as they flow? Full, floating, dark, oh, he who knows Her snowy hand across the strings Of a syrinda, and thus sings: Come hither, come hither, by night and by day, We linger in pleasures that never are gone; Like the waves of the summer, as one dies away, |