Receive your dying sovereign's last command.
When that the spirit from my frame is riven,
(Oh, gracious Alla! be my sins forgiven,
And bright-eyed Houris waft my soul to heaven,)
Then when you bear me to my last retreat,
Let not the mourners howl along the street—
Let not my soldiers in the train be seen,
Nor banners float, nor lance or sabre gleam—
Nor yet, to testify a vain regret,
O'er my remains let costly shrine be set,