Slaking their raging thirst, the flocks are seen,
And new-born herbage clothes the earth in green.
"This trifling wish befits a little soul,
Let the great Ganges o'er my meadows roll!"
Thus Raschid spoke, and thus the God replies,
Rage, as he spoke, rode sparkling in his eyes:—
"Insatiate man, this boundless wish recall
Ere ruin whelm yourself, your flocks and all;
See you these sheaves?—Now mark this dreadful sword,
Those are the wise man's—this the fool's reward."