2
AMIR KHAN.
Which perfumed, ere it kissed the ground,Each zephyr's pinion hovering round;The lofty plane-tree's haughty brow4Glittered beneath the moon's pale glow;And wide the plantain's arms were spread,5The guardian of its native bed.
Where was Amreta at this hour?Say! was she slumbering in her bower?Or gazing on this scene of rest,Less calm, less peaceful than her breast?Or was she resting in the dreamOf brighter days, on Fortune's stream?Or was she weeping Friendship broken,Or sighing o'er Love's withered token?
No! she was calmly resting there:Her eye ne'er spoke of hope nor fear,But 'mid the blaze of splendor round,Forever bent upon the ground,Their long dark lashes hid from viewThe brilliant glances which they threw;Her cheek was neither pale nor red;The rose, upon its summer bed,Could never boast so faint a hue—So faint, and yet so brilliant too!
Though round her Cashmere's incense streamed;Though Persia's gems around her beamed;Though diamonds of Golconda shedTheir warmest lustre o'er her head;
