Cast on the lonely Palm.
And once he murmured, as the night descended,
While gazing fondly through unconscious tears,
“Fair tree, the promise of thy life is ended,
For here thou hast no peers.”
How near the good we distantly are craving!
The Syrian long had weary vigil kept —
One morn his country’s tree was gaily waving —
It blossomed while he slept!
Some far-off nook of that vast city treasured