No, Abla, no--when Selim tells Of many an unknown grace that dwells In Abla's face and mien, When he describes the sense refin'd, That lights thine eye and fills thy mind, By thee alone unseen.
Tis not that drunk with love he sees Ideal charms, which only please Thro' passion's partial veil, 'Tis not that flattery's glozing tongue Hath basely fram'd an idle song, But truth that breath'd the tale.
Thine eyes unaided ne'er could trace Each opening charm, each varied grace, That round thy person plays; Some must remain conceal'd from thee, For Selim's watchful eye to see, For Selim's tongue to praise.
One polish'd mirror can declare That eye so bright, that face so fair, That cheek which shames the rose; But how thy mantle waves behind, How float thy tresses on the wind, Another only shows.
Whoever has recourse to thee Can hope for health no more, He's launched into perdition's sea, A sea without a shore.
Where'er admission thou canst gain, Where'er thy phiz can pierce, At once the Doctor they retain, The mourners and the hearse.
[37] Written to Abou Alchair Selamu, an Egyptian physician. The author was a physician of Antioch.
How can thy chin that burden bear? Is it all gravity to shock? Is it to make the people stare? And be thyself a laughing stock?
When I behold thy little feet After thy beard obsequious run, I always fancy that I meet Some father followed by his son.
A man like thee scarce e'er appear'd-- A beard like thine--where shall we find it? Surely thou cherishest thy beard In hope to hide thyself behind it.
No kind supporting hand I meet, But Fortitude shall stay my feet; No borrow'd splendors round me shine, But Virtue's lustre all is mine; A Fame unsullied still I boast, Obscur'd, conceal'd, but never lost-- The same bright orb that led the day Pours from the West his mellow'd ray.
Zaura, farewell! No more I see Within thy walls, a home for me; Deserted, spurn'd, aside I'm toss'd, As an old sword whose scabbard's lost: Around thy walls I seek in vain Some bosom that will soothe my pain-- No friend is near to breathe relief, Or brother to partake my grief. For many a melancholy day Thro' desert vales I've wound my way; The faithful beast, whose back I press, In groans laments her lord's distress;