44 

 FROM THE PERSIAN. 



I have wandered afar through the climes of the West; 



Where green islands joyously smile on the main; 

 I have lingered where Ararat lulls on his breast 



The tempest whose terrors have smote him in vain; 



Industan! I have strayed through thy riches and splendour; 



Victorious Kahira ! my foot hath delayed 

 Where clustering, gold-sprinkled, cassia trees render, 



To thy minaret f s sanctity, beauty and shade; 



I have sate where the thrice blessed Nile speeds its flood, 

 With the tributes of verdure, through Egypt's parched air ; 



In the shades of Benares, alone, I have stood; 



And have knelt at the shrine of our Prophet, in prayer ; 



And yet, wheresoever my footsteps might wend, 

 Though joys ever new might exert varied powers, 



To my fondly loved home still would memory tend 

 To thy rose-gardens, Shiraz, thy blossoms and bowers. 



O ! thus the Most High, in his wisdom, hath planned 

 A link that endureth through distance and time, 



Enchaining each heart to its own native land 

 With attraction untaught by a far fairer clime. 



So loves the swart Arab his home in the wild, 



He would not exchange, for the vast earth's controul, 



His verdureless sand-plain where Spring never smiled 

 His steed of the desert his freedom of soul. 



So I will remember, whatever intervene, 

 The land where the summer-beams gloriously shine; 



So I will, for ever, rejoice in the scene 



Where Roknabad's fountains are bathing the vine. 



FRANZ. 



Printed and Published by G. HEARDER, Buckwell St. PLYMOUTH. 



