And dims her skies with shadows of the tomb;
There smiles no Paradise on earth so fair
But guilt will raise avenging phantoms there.
Abdallah heeds not, though the light gale roves
Fraught with rich odour, stolen from orange-groves;
Hears not the sounds from wood and brook that rise,
Wild notes of nature’s vesper-melodies;
Marks not how lovely, on the mountain’s head,
Moonlight and snow their mingling lustre spread;
But urges onward, till his weary band,