A man like thee scarce e'er appeared— A beard like thine—where shall we find it? Surely thou cherishest thy beard In hopes to hide thyself behind it. THE LAMENT OF THE VIZIER ABU ISMAEL[51] No kind supporting hand I meet, But Fortitude shall stay my feet; No borrowed splendors round me shine, But Virtue's luster all is mine; A Fame unsullied still I boast, Obscured, concealed, but never lost— The same bright orb that led the day Pours from the West his mellowed ray. Zaura, farewell! No more I see Within thy walls, a home for me; Deserted, spurned, aside I'm tossed, As an old sword whose scabbard's lost: Around thy walls I seek in vain Some bosom that will soothe my pain— No friend is near to breathe relief, Or brother to partake my grief. For many a melancholy day Through desert vales I've wound my way; The faithful beast, whose back I press, In groans laments her lord's distress; In every quivering of my spear A sympathetic sigh I hear; The camel bending with his load, And struggling through the thorny road, 'Midst the fatigues that bear him down, In Hassan's woes forgets his own; Yet cruel friends my wand'rings chide, My sufferings slight, my toils deride. Once wealth, I own, engrossed each thought, There was a moment when I sought The glitt'ring stores Ambition claims To feed the wants his fancy frames; But now 'tis past—the changing day Has snatched my high-built hopes away, And bade this wish my labors close— Give me not riches, but repose. 'Tis he—that mien my friend declares, That stature, like the lance he bears; I see that breast which ne'er contained A thought by fear or folly stained, Whose powers can every change obey, In business grave, in trifles gay, And, formed each varying taste to please, Can mingle dignity with ease. What, though with magic influence, sleep, O'er every closing eyelid creep: Though drunk with its oblivious wine Our comrades on their bales recline, My Selim's trance I sure can break— Selim, 'tis I, 'tis I who speak. Dangers on every side impend, And sleep'st thou, careless of thy friend? Thou sleep'st while every star on high, Beholds me with a wakeful eye— Thou changest, ere the changeful night Hath streak'd her fleeting robe with white. 'Tis love that hurries me along— I'm deaf to fear's repressive song— The rocks of Idham I'll ascend, Though adverse darts each path defend, And hostile sabers glitter there, To guard the tresses of the fair.