What melting glances thro’ those curtains play!
Sure Weira’s antelopes, or Tudah’s roes
Through yonder veils their sportive young survey.
The band mov’d on—to trace their steps I strove;
I saw them urge the camel’s hastening flight;
Till the white [] vapour, like a rising grove,
Snatch’d them for ever from my aching sight.
Nor since that morn have I Nawara seen,
The hands are burst, which held us once so fast;
Memory but tells me that such things have been,