Its feeble texture soon would tear,
And give those jewels to the air.
Thrice happy they, who seek th’ abode
Of peace and pleasure in their God!
Who spurn the world, its joys despise,
And grasp at bliss beyond the skies.
Although the little poem, which comes next has no apparent connection with any particular part of this work, I cannot help inserting it from that beautiful vein of feeling which runs through every line. It was sung before the caliph Wathek, the grandson of Haroun Alraschid, as a specimen of the author’s talents.
THE ADIEU.
BY ABOU MOHAMMED.
The boatmen shout, “’Tis time to part,