He little knew how well the boy
Can float upon a goblet's streams,
Lighting them with his smile of joy;--
As bards have seen him in their dreams,
Down the blue GANGES laughing glide
Upon a rosy lotus wreath,[332]
Catching new lustre from the tide
That with his image shone beneath.
But what are cups without the aid
Of song to speed them as they flow?
And see--a lovely Georgian maid
With all the bloom, the freshened glow
Of her own country maidens' looks,
When warm they rise from Teflis' brooks;[333]
And with an eye whose restless ray
Full, floating, dark--oh, he, who knows
His heart is weak, of Heaven should pray
To guard him from such eyes as those!--
With a voluptuous wildness flings
Her snowy hand across the strings
Of a syrinda[334] and thus sings:--
Come hither, come hither--by night and by day,
We linger in pleasures that never are gone;
Like the waves of the summer as one dies away
Another as sweet and as shining comes on.
And the love that is o'er, in expiring gives birth
To a new one as warm, as unequalled in bliss;
And, oh! if there be an Elysium on earth,
It is this, it is this.[335]
Here maidens are sighing, and fragrant their sigh
As the flower of the Amra just oped by a bee;[336]
And precious their tears as that rain from the sky,[337]
Which turns into pearls as it falls in the sea.
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