True Mussulman was I and sworn,
For it was in the golden prime
Of good Haroun Alraschid.

Anight my shallop, rustling through
The low and bloomed foliage, drove
The fragrant, glistening deeps, and cl
The citron shadows in the blue:
By garden porches on the brim,
The costly doors flung open wide,
Gold glittering through lamplight dim,
And broidered sofas on each side:
In sooth it was a goodly time,
For it was in the golden prime

Of good Haroun Alraschid.

Often, where clear stemmed platans guard The outlet, did I turn away

The boat-head down a broad canal

From the main river sluiced, where all
The sloping of the moonlit sward
Was damask work, and deep inlay

Of breaded blooms unmown, which crept
Adown to where the waters slept.
A goodly place, a goodly time,
For it was in the golden prime
Of good Haroun Alrasch'd!

A motion, from the river won,
Ridged the smooth level, bearing on
My shallop through the star-strown calm,
Until another night in night

I entered, from the clearer light,
Imbowered vaults of pillared palm,

Imprisoning sweets, which, as they clomb
Heavenward, were stayed beneath the dome
Of hollow boughs.-A goodly time,

For it was in the golden prime

Of good Haroun Alraschid!

RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ARABIAN NIGHTS.

Wandered engrained. On either side
Ail round about the fragrant marge,
From fluted vase, and brazen urn
In order, eastern flowers large,
Some drooping low their crimson bell
Half-closed, and others studded wide
With disks and tiars, fed the time
With odour in the golden prime
Of good Haroun Alraschid.

Far off, and where the lemon grove
In closest coverture upsprung,
The living airs of middle night
Died round the bulbul as he sung.
Not he: but something which possessed
The darkness of the world, delight,
Life, anguish, death, immortal love
Ceasing not, mingled, unrepressed,
Apart from place, withholding time,
But flattering the golden prime
Of good Haroun Alraschid.

Black-green the garden bowers and grots
Slumbered: the solemn palms were ranged
Above, unwooed of summer wind.

A sudden splendour from behind
Flushed all the leaves with rich gold green,
And flowing rapidly between

Their interspaces, counterchanged
The level lake with diamond plots
Of saffron light. A lovely time,
For it was in the golden prime
Of good Haroun Alraschid!

Dark blue the deep sphere overhead,
Distinct with vivid stars unrayed,
Grew darker from that under-flame;
So, leaping lightly from the boat,
With silver anchor left afloat,
In marvel whence that glory came
Upon me, as in sleep I sank

In cool soft turf upon the bank,
Entranced with that place and time,
So worthy of the golden prime
Of good Haroun Alraschid.

Thence through the garden I was borne-
A realm of pleasance, many a mound,
And many a shadow-chequered lawn
Full of the city's stilly sound.

And deep myrrh thickets blowing round
The stately cedar, tamarisks,
Thick rosaries of scented thorn,

Tall orient shrubs, and obelisks

113

Graven with emblems of the time,
In honour of the golden prime
Of good Haroun Alraschid.
With dazed vision unawares
From the long alley's latticed shade
Emerged, I came upon the great
Pavilion of the Caliphat,

Right to the carven cedarn doors,
Flung inward over spangled floors,
Broad-based flights of marble stairs,
Ran up with golden balustrade,
After the fashion of the time,
And humour of the golden prime
Of good Haroun Alraschid.
The fourscore windows all alight
As with the quintessence of flame,
A million tapers flaring bright

From wreathed silvers, look'd to shame
The hollow-vaulted dark, and stream'd
Upon the mooned domes aloof

In inmost Bagdat, till there seem'd
Hundreds of crescents on the roof

Of night new-risen, that marvellous time,
To celebrate the golden prime

Of good Haroun Alraschid.

Then stole I up, and trancedly
Gazed on the Persian girl alone,
Serene with argent-lidded eyes
Amorous, and lashes like to rays
Of darkness, and a brow of pearl
Tressed with redolent ebony,
In many a dark delicious curl,
Flowing below her rose-hued zone;
The sweetest lady of the time,
Well worthy of the golden prime
Of good Haroun Alraschid.

Six columns, three on either side,
Pure silver, underpropped a rich
Throne o' the massive ore, from which
Down dropped, in many a floating fold,
Engarlanded and diapered

With inwrought flowers, a cloth of gold,
Thereon, his deep eye laughter-stirred
With merriment of kingly pride,

Sole star of all that place and time,
I saw him-in his golden prime,
THE GOOD HAROUN ALRASCHID!

ALFRED TENNYSON.