“Then wherefore cruel Briton, say,
“Compel my aching heart to stay?
“To-morrow’s Sun—may rise, to see—
“The famish’d Lascar, blest as thee!”
VIII.
The morn had scarcely shed its rays
When, from the City’s din he ran;
For he had fasted, four long days,
And faint his Pilgrimage began!
The Lascar, now, without a friend,—