8
AMIR KHAN.
Rich vases, with sweet incense streaming,Mirrors a flood of brilliance beaming,Fountain, and bath, and curling stream,At every turn before them beam;And marble pillars, pure and cold,And glittering roof, inlaid with gold,And gems and diamonds met his viewIn wild and rich profusion too;And had Amreta's smiles been given,This place had been the Moslem heaven!
The Prophet paused; while Amir KhanGazed, awe-struck, on the wond'rous man,Al Shinar plucked a pale blue flower,Which bent beneath the fountain's shower,Then slowly turned towards Amir Khan,And placed the treasure in his hand.
"Mark me!" he cried; "this pensive flower,Gathered at midnight's magic hour,Will charm each passion of the breast,And calm each throbbing nerve to rest;'Twill leave thy bounding bosom warm,Yet set death's seal upon thy form;'Twill leave thee stiff, and cold, and pale,A slumberer 'neath an icy veil,But still shall Reason's conscious reignUnbroken, undisturbed, remain,And thou shalt hear, and feel, and knowEach sigh, each touch, each throb of woe!
