(1) Dear as the Melody of better days
That steals the trembling tear of speechless praise—
Sweet as his native song to Exile's ears
Shall sound each tone thy long-loved voice endears.—
[December 2, 1813.]
(2) { Dear Soft } as the melody of { better youthful } days
That steals { a silent the trembling } tear of speechless praise—
[178] {197} "Jannat-al-Aden," the perpetual abode, the Mussulman paradise. [See Sale's Koran, "Preliminary Discourse," sect. i.; and Journal, November 17, 1813, Letters, 1898, ii. 326.]
[gs] Wait on thy voice and bow at thy command.—[MS.]
Oh turn and mingle every thought with his,
And all our future days unite in this.—[MS.]
[179] ["You wanted some reflections, and I send you per Selim, eighteen lines in decent couplets, of a pensive, if not an ethical tendency.... Mr. Canning's approbation (if he did approve) I need not say makes me proud."—Letter to Murray, November 23, 1813, Letters, 1898, ii. 286.]
Man I may lead but trust not—I may fall
By those now friends to me, yet foes to all—
In this they follow but the bent assigned,
By fatal Nature to our warring kind.—[MS.]
[gv] {198}