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XXXIV.

Then foster'd genius lent each Caliph's throne
Lustre barbaric pomp could ne'er attain;
And stars unnumber'd o'er the orient shone,
Bright as that Pleiad, sphered in Mecca's fane.^13[1]
From Bagdat's palaces the choral strains
Rose and re-echoed to the desert's bound,
And Science, wooed on Egypt's burning plains,
Rear'd her majestic head with glory crown'd;
And the wild Muses breathed romantic lore,

From Syria's palmy groves to Andalusia's shore.

XXXV.

Those years have past in radiance—they have past,
As sinks the day-star in the tropic main;
His parting beams no soft reflection cast,
They burn—are quench'd—and deepest shadows reign.
And Fame and Science have not left a trace,
In the vast regions of the Moslem's power,—
Regions, to intellect a desert space,
A wild without a fountain or a flower,
Where towers oppression midst the deepening glooms,

As dark and lone ascends the cypress midst the tombs.