In marble-paved pavilion, where a spring

Of living water from the centre rose,

Whose bubbling did a genial freshness fling,

And soft voluptuous couches breathed repose,

Ali reclined, a man of war and woes:[160]

Yet in his lineaments ye cannot trace,

While Gentleness her milder radiance throws[161]

Along that agéd venerable face,

The deeds that lurk beneath, and stain him with disgrace.