And fair are the “gardens of Gul” in their bloom;
Can the roses they twine, or the vines which they bear,
Speak peace to the heart of suspicion and fear?
Let Phœbus’ bright ray the Egean wave,
But say, can it lighten the lot of a slave—
Or all that is beauteous in nature impart
One virtue to soften the Moslem’s proud heart?
Ah, no! ’tis the magic that glows in thy strain,
Gives life to the action and soul to the scene!
And the deeds which they do, and the tales which they tell,