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There might he from the world 
Keep his heart pure and uncontaminate, 
Till at the written hour he should be found 
Fit servant of the Lord, without a spot.” 
Stanza 21 :— 
‘Tis the cool evening hour : 
The Tamarind from the dew 
Sheathes its young fruit, yet green. 
Before their Tent the mat is spread, 
The Old Man’s awful voice 
Intones the holy Book. 
What if beneath no lamp-illumin’d dome, 
Its marble walls bedeck’d with flourish’d truth, 
Azure and gold adornment? sinks,the word 
With deeper influence from the Imam’s voice, 
Where in the day of congregation, crowds 
Perform the duty-task ? 
Their Father is their Priest, 
The Stars of Heaven their point of prayer, 
And the blue Firmament 
The glorious Temple, where they feel 
The present Deity ! 
22. 
“Vet through the purple glow of eve 
Shines dimly the white moon. 
The slacken’d bow, the quiver, the long lance, 
Rest on the pillar of the Tent. 
Knitting light palm-leaves for her brother’s brow, 
The dark-eyed damsel sits ; 
The Old Man tranquilly 
Up his curl’d pipe inhales 
The tranquillizing herb, 
So listen they the reed of Thalaba, 
While his skill’d fingers modulate 
The low, sweet, soothing, melancholy tones.” 
Still more remarkable is this in regard to “ Kehama.” No 
doubt the details of the Indian Mythology will not bear so exact a 
scrutiny as the Mussulman creed of ‘‘Thalaba ;” but it had the 
inestimable merit of investing the names of the Hindoo divinities 
with a familiarity, and also with a sublimity, such as they had 
never had before. A well known pupil of my own, Thomas French, 
