It is enough! mine eye no more of joy or splendour sees;
I leave your name in lofty faith, to the skies and to the breeze!
I go, since Earth her flower hath lost, to join the bright and fair,
And call the grave a kingly house, for ye, my chiefs! are there."
But while the old man sang, a mist of tears
O'er Haroun's eyes had gather'd, and a thought—
Oh! many a sudden and remorseful thought
Of his youth's once-loved friends, the martyr'd race,
O'erflow'd his softening heart.—"Live, live!" he cried,
"Thou faithful unto death: live on! and still
Speak of thy lords! they were a princely band."F. H.
