With flagging wing, and crest to earth bow'd low, Indignant dies beneath a Moslem's blow. Alas for Palestine! her palmy vale, Her grove of nard that scented ev'ry gale, Her corn-lands thick with sheaves, her crystal rills, Her flocks that feed upon a thousand hills, Her Faith-than flocks, and groves, and vales more dear All own the triumphs of Medina's spear. That tear, that song, to wasted India turn ! K 2 For she was happy once; her citron groves But Time speeds on; and tho' th' Impostor's pow'r Hail, sun-bright days!-more fair, than was, of old, Saturnian age, by fabling Fancy told— Hail, sun-bright days! bring on your radiant train, Peace, Mercy, Love, resume your halcyon reign; Bid ancient Lore, and classic Taste refin'd, Raise the low thought, and harmonize the mind; While heav'n-born Truth, (tho' dimm'd, forbid to fade,) With beam, more strong from Error's transient shade, Breaks forth unclouded, and on Mecca's night Pours the full flood of everlasting light. |