like the talismanic characters on the scimitar of Solomon. Her consent was therefore most readily granted; and while FADLADEEN sat in unspeakable dismay, expecting treason and abomination in every line, the poet thus began his story of the Fire-worshippers:— THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. 'Tis moonlight over OMAN'S SEA *; And her blue waters sleep in smiles. Bidding the bright-eyed sun farewell; - To sing him to his golden rest. All hush'd there's not a breeze in motion; *The Persian Gulf, sometimes so called, which separates the shores of Persia and Arabia. The present Gombaroon, a town on the Persian side of the Gulf. A Moorish instrument of music. If zephyrs come, so light they come, Ev'n he, that tyrant Arab, sleeps His race hath brought on IRAN's† name. Mid eyes that weep, and swords that strike;- To carnage and the Koran given, Lies their directest path to heaven; One, who will pause and kneel unshod In the warm blood his hand hath pour'd, "At Gombaroon and other places in Persia, they have towers for the purpose of catching the wind, and cooling the houses." Le Bruyn. "Iran is the true general name for the empire of Persia." - Asiat. Res. Disc. 5. To mutter o'er some text of God Engraven on his reeking sword *; To which his blade, with searching art, Just ALLA! what must be thy look, When such a wretch before thee stands Unblushing, with thy Sacred Book, Turning the leaves with blood-stain'd hands, And wresting from its page sublime His creed of lust, and hate, and crime; Ev'n as those bees of TREBIZOND, Which, from the sunniest flowers that glad With their pure smile the gardens round, Draw venom forth that drives men mad. † Never did fierce ARABIA send A satrap forth more direly great; "On the blades of their scimitars some verse from the Koran is usually inscribed." - Russel. + "There is a kind of Rhododendros about Trebizond, whose flowers the bee feeds upon, and the honey thence drives people mad."— Tournefort. Never was IRAN doom'd to bend Beneath a yoke of deadlier weight. Her sons were willing slaves, nor blush'd, In their own land, - no more their own, To crouch beneath a stranger's throne. Her towers, where MITHRA once had burn'd, To Moslem shrines - oh shame! were turn'd, Where slaves, converted by the sword, With hope and vengeance; - hearts that yet – Like gems, in darkness, issuing rays They've treasur'd from the sun that's set, - And swords she hath, nor weak nor slow Who sleeps in moonlight luxury there, Becalm'd in Heav'n's approving ray. |