“And don’t forget to pack with the rest “Some glittering arms, and of housings the best, “As well as drinks of every kind “And eatables such as in pots we find, “And almond cakes and sweetmeats Egyptian, “And gingerbread of every description. “And also add a dozen steeds “As swift as arrows, of Arab breeds, “And likewise a dozen slaves, black as coals, “With bodies of steel, and sturdy souls. “Ansari, when all these things thou hast got, “Thou must start on thy journey, and linger not. “Thou must take them all with my kind regard “To Thus, to Ferdusi, the mighty bard.”-- Ansari fulfill’d his lord’s behest, And loaded the camels and mules with the best And costliest presents, the value of which Was enough to make a whole province quite rich. In propriâ personâ he left at last The palace, when some three days had past, And with a general’s banner red In front of the caravan he sped. At the end of a week to Thus came they; The town at the foot of the mountain lay. The caravan the western gate With shouts and noises entered straight. The trumpets sounded, the loud drums beat, And songs of triumph rang through the street. “La Illa Il Allah!” with joyous shout The camel drivers were calling out. But through the East gate at the farther end Of Thus, at that moment chanced to wend The funeral train so full of gloom, That the dead Ferdusi bore to his tomb. VOYAGE BY NIGHT. The half-moon peer’d from the darksome clouds With coyness, while rock’d the sea; And when in the bark our places we took, Our number then was three. There plash’d in the water the strokes of the oar With sad monotony; White foaming billows came with a roar, And sprinkled all of us three. She stood in the bark, as pale, as slim, As void of motion too, As though she a marble statue were, Diana’s image true. The moon disappear’d. The nightwind piped With chilly blast on high; When over our heads there suddenly rose A wild and piercing cry. ’Twas the white and ghostlike seamew’s voice, And at that terrible cry, Which fearfully rang like a warning call, All three felt like to die. Am I in a fever? A vision is this Of nightly phantasy? Am I aped by a dream? I’m dreaming a dream Of wild buffoonery. Buffoonery wild! Methinks in my dream That I a Saviour am; And faithfully bear the weight of the Cross, As gentle as a lamb. Poor beauty beside me is sore distress’d, But soon I’ll set her free From sin and shame and sorrow and pain, And earthly misery. Poor beauty, O be not thou terrified, Though bitter the medicine be; Although my heart may break, I myself Will mete out death to thee.