Whose powers can every change obey,
In business grave, in trifles gay,
And, formed each varying taste to please,
Can mingle dignity with ease.
What, though with magic influence, sleep,
O'er every closing eyelid creep:
Though drunk with its oblivious wine
Our comrades on their bales recline,
My Selim's trance I sure can break—
Selim, 'tis I, 'tis I who speak.