’Tis moonlight over OMAN’S SEA;[214] Her banks of pearl and palmy isles Bask in the night-beam beauteously, And her blue waters sleep in smiles. ’Tis moonlight in HARMOZIA’S[215] walls, And through her EMIR’S porphyry halls, Where, some hours since, was heard the swell Of trumpet and the clash of zel,[216] Bidding the bright-eyed sun farewell;— The peaceful sun, whom better suits The music of the bulbul’s nest, Or the light touch of lovers’ lutes, To sing him to his golden rest. All hush’d—there’s not a breeze in motion; The shore is silent as the ocean. If zephyrs come, so light they come, Nor leaf is stirr’d nor wave is driven;— The wind-tower on the EMIR’S dome[217] Can hardly win a breath from heaven. Even he, that tyrant Arab, sleeps Calm, while a nation round him weeps; While curses load the air he breathes, And falchions from unnumbered sheaths Are starting to avenge the shame His race hath brought on IRAN’S[218] name. Hard, heartless Chief, unmov’d alike Mid eyes that weep, and swords that strike;— One of that saintly, murderous brood, To carnage and the Koran given, Who think through unbelievers’ blood Lies their directest path to heaven;— One, who will pause and kneel unshod In the warm blood his hand hath pour’d, To mutter o’er some text of God Engraven on his reeking sword;[219]— Nay, who can coolly note the line, The letter of those words divine, To which his blade, with searching art, Had sunk into its victim’s heart! Just ALLA! what must be thy look, When such a wretch before thee stands Unblushing, with thy Sacred Book,— Turning the leaves with blood-stain’d hands, And wresting from its page sublime His creed of lust, and hate, and crime;— Even as those bees of TREBIZOND, Which, from the sunniest flowers that glad With their pure smile the gardens round, Draw venom forth that drives men mad.[220]