  THE dusky shadows deepened and the night was drawing on, A weary maiden watched my dying first, so nearly gone; She mused awhile in silence, then to herself she spake, “Ah, me, but when to-morrow dawns I know my first will break.” The youth rode on. Like Scott’s brave knight he stayed not for my last; He lingered not, nor faltered, but pressed onward hard and fast. Alas! he took the downward course with many dangers rife; But just in time he used my last and so he saved his life. My whole, by artists painted and by poets often sung, Thou hast across the Orient thy royal banners flung. Thy wonders and thy glories we travel miles to see, And the benighted wanderer oft sighs in vain for thee. |
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