The rose garden of Persia . ?•?=$-^^ H THE HEPOSraG MEBCHAUTS. ]ot—but the trutli declare,Hafiz fills again:IS eyes are on his charming fair,His lips the wine cup drain.*****Twas near a fountains,brink a group reclined,Where waters sported with the morning threw their shadows broad and deep grass, like emeralds, freshened all the former care and future toil forgot,,They hailed, the present in this happy spot:Merchants they were, and great their treasured storeyRich musk from Khoten, gems and stuffs they oer the desert sands to fair Lahore,Froin clime
The rose garden of Persia . ?•?=$-^^ H THE HEPOSraG MEBCHAUTS. ]ot—but the trutli declare,Hafiz fills again:IS eyes are on his charming fair,His lips the wine cup drain.*****Twas near a fountains,brink a group reclined,Where waters sported with the morning threw their shadows broad and deep grass, like emeralds, freshened all the former care and future toil forgot,,They hailed, the present in this happy spot:Merchants they were, and great their treasured storeyRich musk from Khoten, gems and stuffs they oer the desert sands to fair Lahore,Froin climes remote, and different nations, someAmidst these arid tract^ were bent to roamIn search of pleasure, wandering fromtheir home. ,>X«-. -»1<- BRIMHAS SOBROW. They sang their countrys legends as they lay, And aoothe wi th melody the devious wp,y:One dark-eyed minstrel lured the curious throng,To list the Brahmins sad, mysterioiis song. LAX OF BBIMHAS SORROW.(68) M-iastrel, wake the Magic spell!Sing of Love, its wonders telljTell how it subdues the we-blame weak man that thy glowing ver^e immortal natures bowed;How great Brimhg,s heart was for womans love hesighed. shall say where love begins,How its subtle way it wins ? , Grods, who love the race they tell whence springs the flame. ^^^Man-may reason long and well,But can never break the spell. ?K % 0°-- x«»- L76 THE GODS LAMENT. Sing of Brimtia/and the pain ^ Which disturbs his sacred reign;Even on his heavenly throne Tears of sorrow cloud his eye,Dreaming of that fatal one. Born in awful mystery:Last created—prized the , loving, loved, and lost! Sometimes stars look dim.
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdeca, booksubjectenglishpoetry, bookyear1887
