Came gliding light as the desert’s roe,
Down marble steps, to the tanks below;
And a cool sweet plashing was ever heard,
As the molten glass of the wave was stirr’d,
And a murmur, thrilling the scented air,
Told where the Bramin bow’d in prayer.
—There wander’d a noble Moslem boy
Through the scene of beauty in breathless joy;
He gazed where the stately city rose,
Like a pageant of clouds, in its red repose;