Far other influence pour’d the Crescent’s light O’er conquer’d realms, in ages pass’d away; Full and alone it beam’d, intensely bright, While distant climes in midnight darkness lay. Then rose th’ Alhambra, with its founts and shades, Fair marble halls, alcoves, and orange bowers: Its sculptured lions,[23] richly wrought arcades, Aërial pillars, and enchanted towers; Light, splendid, wild, as some Arabian tale Would picture fairy domes that fleet before the gale. 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 Pleïad, sphered in Mecca’s fane.[24] From Bagdat’s palaces the choral strains Rose and re-echoed to the desert’s bound, And Science, woo’d 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 daystar 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. XXXVI. Alas for thee, fair Greece! when Asia pour’d Her fierce fanatics to Byzantium’s wall; When Europe sheath’d, in apathy, her sword, And heard unmoved the fated city’s call. No bold crusaders ranged their serried line Of spears and banners round a falling throne; And thou, O last and noblest Constantine![25] Didst meet the storm unshrinking and alone. Oh! blest to die in freedom, though in vain-- Thine empire’s proud exchange the grave, and not the chain! XXXVII. Hush’d is Byzantium--’tis the dead of night-- The closing night of that imperial race![26] And all is vigil--but the eye of light Shall soon unfold, a wilder scene to trace: There is a murmuring stillness on the train Thronging the midnight streets, at morn to die; And to the cross, in fair Sophia’s fane, For the last time is raised Devotion’s eye; And, in his heart while faith’s bright visions rise, There kneels the high-soul’d prince, the summon’d of the skies. XXXVIII.