6
AMIR KHAN.
A dark abyss—a sunless day,An endless night without one ray.
'Twas at that day, that silent hour,When the tall poppy sheds its shower,When all on earth, and all on highSeemed breathing slumber's sweetest sigh;At that calm hour when Peris loveTo gaze upon the heaven above,Whose portals, bright with many a gem,Are closed—forever closed on them;'Twas at this silent, solemn hour,That, gliding from his summer bower,The Subahdar with noiseless stepSteals like the night-breeze o'er the deep.
Where glides the haughty Subahdar?Onward he glides to where afarProud Hirney-Purvet rears his head11High above Cashmere's blooming bed,And twines his turban's fleecy foldWith many a brilliant ray of gold,Or places on his brow of blueThe crescent with its silver hue.
There, 'neath a plantain's sacred shade,Which deep, and dark, and widely spread,Al Shinar's high prophetic formHeld secret counsel with the storm;His hand had grasped, with fearless might,The mantle of descending night.
