by gentle zephyrs played upon,
Whose breezy head and bosky side
front seas of cooly celadon;--

'Tis theirs to pass with joy and hope,
whose souls shall ever thrill and fill
Dreams of the Birthplace and the Tomb,
visions of Allah's Holy Hill.*

* Arafat, near Mecca.

But we? Another shift of scene,
another pang to rack the heart;
Why meet we on the bridge of Time
to 'change one greeting and to part?

We meet to part; yet asks my sprite,
Part we to meet? Ah! is it so?
Man's fancy-made Omniscience knows,
who made Omniscience nought can know.

Why must we meet, why must we part,
why must we bear this yoke of MUST,
Without our leave or askt or given,
by tyrant Fate on victim thrust?

That Eve so gay, so bright, so glad,
this Morn so dim, and sad, and grey;
Strange that life's Registrar should write
this day a day, that day a day!