I was forced from my native shade,
And I wrapped me around with my mantle’s fold,
A sad, mournful Circassian maid!
And I then vow’d that rapture should never move
This changeless cheek, this rayless eye,
And I then vowed to feel neither bliss nor love,
But I vowed I would meet thee and die.
Occasionally the versification rises into melody and even strength; as here—
’Twas at the hour when Peris love
To gaze upon the Heaven above