I would not play a villain's part,
And buy with gold a woman's heart;
'Tis not in gold to purchase love,
Above all wealth, all price above;

For I would rather die than see

A smile on lips that are not free.
Give me the boundless swell of bliss,

The heart upspringing to the kiss,

When life, and soul, and breath combine

To tell me, she is only mine;

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The flood of joy o'erwhelming quite

My glowing senses with delight.

-Base wretch! and thou that rose hast sold:

A demon's curse upon thy gold."

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The traveller witness'd with surprise

How he the maniac's heart had wrung

What remedy could he devise?

He from his camel sprung;

And when the sufferer seem'd to be restored,

Forgiveness anxiously implored :

""Twas wrong, and I deserve the blame;

I mark'd with infamy her name:

My fault is of the darkest hue,—

My crime-for Lailí still is true!
What! though in nuptial band united,

Her faith, to thee so often plighted,

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Spotless remains, still firm, unbroken,

As proved by many a mournful token.

For

every moment's space can claim

A thousand recollections of thy name:
Thus ever present to her memory,

She lives, and only lives for thee.

One year has pass'd since she was made a bride; But what of years? whatever may betide,

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Were it a thousand, still her heart's the same, Unchanged, unchangeable her earliest cherish'd flame."

Now Majnún, desolate, his fate perceived,

As in a glass, the misery of his lot,

And, from the first impression scarce relieved,
Felt his abandonment, and only not forgot.

Wasted and wan, he flutter'd where he lay;
And, turning to that magic point which led
To where his angel-face was wont to stay,
Thus, in a melancholy tone, he said :-

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"Alas! my passion glow'd in every part; Thine in thy tongue, but never in thy heart; With thy new love hast thou so amorous grown?

And am I worthless as a desert-stone?

What is a word, a promise, oath, or pledge?

Mockery, which never can the heart engage.

What was my garden's wealth but fruit and flowers?
And all that wealth a raven now devours;

And what has been my constant care and toil,
But for another to prepare the spoil?
When first my soul was destined to be thine,
I little thought that treasure to resign;
Think of thy broken vows, to what they tend;
Think of thy falsehood, and lament its end.
My doom is fix'd; my choice no longer free;
My martyr-life devoted still to thee!"

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XIII.

Meantime, the father mourn'd his wretched state, Like Jacob o'er his Joseph's unknown fate;

No rest by day, no sleep by night;

Grief o'er him shed its withering blight;

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Incessant yawnings wrung his heart,

He sat in darkness, silent, lone:

"Why did my child from home depart? Where has the hopeless wanderer gone?"

Dreading that death's relentless dart

His best-beloved had overthrown.

Sudden he rose-despair gave force
And vigor to his aged frame;
And, almost frantic with remorse,

Gathering upon himself the blame,

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He trod the maze of wood and wild,
Seeking his poor forsaken child;
And when the day withdrew its light,
He pass'd in cavern rude the night;
But never ceased his venturous quest-
No peace for him-no strengthening rest.
In vain he paced the desert round,
For not a trace of him was found.
At length a herdsman, falling in his way,
Described the spot where Majnún lay;
Craggy, and deep, and terrible to view,
It seem'd a grave all damp with noxious dew.
Thither proceeding, by the stranger led,

He finds with horror that sepulchral bed;

And, fearful of the worst, beholds the wreck
Of his once-lovely boy ;--

He sees a serpent winding round his neck,
Playful, not destined to destroy:

It stays but for a moment-all around,

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Limbs half-devour'd, and bones, bestrew the ground. 1600 With cautious step descending, he surveys

Th' unconscious youth, who meets his anxious gaze

With a wild look, which could not recognise
The tottering form before him-" Who art thou?
And what thy errand?" The old man replies-
"I am thy father! I have found thee now,
After long search!" Embracing, both remain'd
In deep compassionate sorrow, fondly strain'd

Each to the other's bosom; and when he,

The maniac, had regain'd his memory,

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And beams of light burst through his 'nighted brain,

And he beheld and knew his sire again,

Joy sparkled in his faded eye awhile,

And his parch'd lips seem'd curl'd into a smile.
The poor old father said, with feeble voice,

"Thou mak'st my heart both tremble and rejoice:
The path o'er which thy feet are doom'd to pass
Shows blades of swords, not harmless blades of grass;
And I would warn thee never more to roam;
Thy only safety is to stay at home.

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Dogs have a home, and thou hast none to boast:

Art thou a man to human comfort lost?

If man thou art, then like a man appear,

Or, if a demon, be a demon here.

The ghoul, created to perplex the earth,

Is still a ghoul, and answers to its birth;

But thouʼrt a man; and why, with human soul,
Forget thy nature and become a ghoul?

To-day, if thou shouldst throw the reins aside,
To-morrow thou may'st ask, and be denied.
Soon shall I pass away, and be at rest ;

No longer this frail world's unhappy guest.
My day is mingling with the shades of night;
My life is losing all its wonted light.
Soul of thy father! re-inspired with grace,
Rise, and protect the honors of thy race!

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