CANTO THE SECOND XVIII |
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CANTO THE SECONDXVIII
"What could I be? Proscribed at home,
And taunted to a wish to roam;
And listless left — for Giaffir`s fear
Denied the courser and the spear —
Though oft — oh, Mohammed! how oft! —
In full Divan the despot scoff`d,
As if my weak unwilling hand
Refused the bridle or the brand:
He ever went to war alone,
And pent me here untried — unknown;
To Haroun`s care with women left,
By hope unblest, of fame bereft.
While thou — whose softness long endear`d,
Though it unmann`d me, still had cheer`d —
To Brusa`s walls for safety sent,
Awaited`st there the field`s event.
Haroun, who saw my spirit pining
Beneath inaction`s sluggish yoke,
His captive, though with dread, resigning,
My thraldom for a season broke,
On promise to return before
The day when Giaffir`s charge was o`er.
`Tis vain — my tongue can not impart
My almost drunkenness of heart,
When first this liberated eye
Survey`d Earth, Ocean, Sun and Sky,
As if my spirit pierced them through,
And all their inmost wonders knew!
One word alone can paint to thee
That more than feeling — I was Free!
Ev`n for thy presence ceased to pine;
The World — nay — Heaven itself was mine!
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