O thou! foot-bounden in the mesh of fame and glory's snare! Till when shall last the lust of faithless earth's pursuits and care? At that first moment, which of life's fair springtide is the last, 'Tis need the tulip cheek the tint of autumn leaf should wear; 'Tis need that thy last home should be, e'en like the dregs', the dust; 'Tis need the stone from hand of Fate should be joy's beaker's share. He is a man indeed whose heart is as a mirror clear; Man art thou? why then doth thy breast the tiger's fierceness bear? In understanding's eye how long shall heedless slumber bide? Will not war's Lion-Monarch's fate suffice to make thee ware? He, Prince of Fortune's Cavaliers! he to whose charger bold, Whene'er he caracoled or pranced, cramped was earth's tourney square! He, to the luster of whose sword the Magyar bowed his head! He, the dread gleaming of whose brand the Frank can well declare! Like tender rose-leaf, gently laid he in the dust his face, And Earth, the Treasurer, him placed like jewel in his case. In truth, he was the radiance of rank high and glory great, A Shah, Iskender-diademed, of Dara's armied state; Before the dust beneath his feet the Sphere bent low its head; Earth's shrine of adoration was his royal pavilion's gate. The smallest of his gifts the meanest beggar made a prince; Exceeding bounteous, exceeding kind a Potentate! The court of glory of his kingly majesty most high Was aye the center where would hopes of sage and poet wait. Although he yielded to Eternal Destiny's command, A King was he in might as Doom and puissant as Fate! Weary and worn by this sad, changeful Sphere, deem not thou him: Near God to be, did he his rank and glory abdicate. What wonder if our eyes no more life and the world behold! His beauty fair, as sun and moon, did earth irradiate! If folk upon the bright sun look, with tears are filled their eyes; For seeing it, doth yon moon-face before their minds arise!