"Thy words are good," the Caliph said,
"But their intent I somewhat dread.
For matters cannot well be worse
Than when the thief says, 'Guard your purse!'
I cannot trust your counsel, friend,
It surely hides some wicked end."
Said Satan, "Near the throne of God,
In ages past, we devils trod;
Angels of light, to us 't was given
To guide each wandering foot to heaven.
Not wholly lost is that first love.
Nor those pure tastes we knew above.
Roaming across a continent.
The Tartar moves his shifting tent,
But never quite forgets the day
When in his father's arms he lay;
So we, once bathed in love divine.
Recall the taste of that rich wine.
God's finger rested on my brow,—
That magic touch, I feel it now!