The tear shall never leave my cheek,
No other youth shall be my marrow; I'll seek thy body in the stream,
And then with thee I'll sleep in Yarrow.
JOHN LOGAN.
FAREWELL TO THEE, ARABY'S DAUGHTER.
FROM "THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS."
Farewell,—farewell to thee, Araby's daughter!
(Thus warbled a Peri beneath the dark sea;) No pearl ever lay under Oman's green water
More pure in its shell than thy spirit in thee.
O, fair as the sea-flower close to thee growing,
How light was thy heart till love's witchery came, Like the wind of the south o'er a summer lute blowing,
And hushed all its music and withered its frame!
But long, upon Araby's green sunny highlands,
Shall maids and their lovers remember the doom Of her who lies sleeping among the Pearl Islands,
With naught but the sea-star to light up her tomb.
And still, when the merry date-season is burning,
And calls to the palm-grove the young and the old, The happiest there, from their pastime returning
At sunset, will weep when thy story is told.
The young village maid, when with flowers she dresses
Her dark flowing-hair for some festival day, Will think of thy fate till, neglecting her tresses,
She mournfully turns from the mirror away.
Nor shall Iran, beloved of her hero, forget thee—
Though tyrants watch over her tears as they start, Close, close by the side of that hero she'll set thee,
Embalmed in the innermost shrine of her heart.