A draught like this 'twere vain to seek,
No grape can such supply;
It steals its tint from Leila's cheek,
Its brightness from her eye.
MASHDUD ON THE MONKS OF KHABBET[37]
Tenants of yon hallowed fane!
Let me your devotions share,
There increasing raptures reign—
None are ever sober there.
Crowded gardens, festive bowers