THE DYING MOSLEM.
Jannat al Aden’s towers I see,
I know my fate is nigh—
The Hûr al Oyun beckon me,
Their waving arms I spy.
Sweet maids of Heaven, I come, I come!
Mine eyes in darkness swim—
The chills of death my heart benumb,
And creep through every limb.
My trophies see around me piled—
The unbeliever’s blood
My dripping garments has defiled,
Has slaked my falchion good.
More soft to me than beds of flowers
The gory battle plain;
For thence I mount to Eden’s bowers,
And joys immortal gain.
The Houri’s kiss is sweeter far
Than whispers of the South;
Her eyes are like the evening star,
Her lot eternal youth!