He travels joyous; thinks his luck is great;
And never dreams of what’s to be his fate.
An Arab charger proudly bore him on;
He recked not at what price all this was won.165
O fatuous fool! Thou hastest to thy doom.
The post thou dream’st of, soon will be thy tomb.
His fancy webs of power and fame did weave;
Death’s angel thundered: “Come, and all this leave!”
Arrived betimes at his long journey’s end,
The doctor led him to the prince, his friend.