Tower-crested rocks, and streams that wind in light,
All in one moment bursting on his sight,
Speak to his soul of glory’s vanish’d years,
And wake the source of unavailing tears.
—Weep’st thou, Abdallah?—Thou dost well to weep,
O feeble heart! o’er all thou couldst not keep!
Well do a woman’s tears befit the eye
Of him who knew not as a man to die.[99]
The gale sighs mournfully through Zayda’s bower,
The hand is gone that nursed each infant flower.