Here too he traces the kind visitings Of woman’s love in those fair, living things Of land and wave, whose fate—in bondage thrown For their weak loveliness—is like her own! On one side gleaming with a sudden grace Through water, brilliant as the crystal vase In which it undulates, small fishes shine, Like golden ingots from a fairy mine;— While, on the other, latticed lightly in With odoriferous woods of COMORIN,[68] Each brilliant bird that wings the air is seen;— Gay, sparkling loories, such as gleam between The crimson blossoms of the coral tree[69] In the warm Isles of India’s sunny sea: Mecca’s blue sacred pigeon,[70] and the thrush Of Hindostan,[71] whose holy warblings gush, At evening, from the tall pagoda’s top;— Those golden birds that, in the spice-time, drop About the gardens, drunk with that sweet food[72] Whose scent hath lur’d them o’er the summer flood;[73] And those that under Araby’s soft sun Build their high nests of budding cinnamon:[74] In short, all rare and beauteous things, that fly Through the pure element, here calmly lie Sleeping in light, like the green birds[75] that dwell In Eden’s radiant fields of asphodel! So on, through scenes past all imagining, More like the luxuries of that impious King,[76] Whom Death’s dark angel, with his lightning torch, Struck down and blasted even in Pleasure’s porch, Than the pure dwelling of a Prophet sent, Arm’d with Heaven’s sword, for man’s enfranchisement— Young AZIM wander’d, looking sternly round, His simple garb and war-boots’ clanking sound But ill according with the pomp and grace And silent lull of that voluptuous place.