"What could I be? Proscribed at home,

And taunted to a wish to roam;

And listless left—for Giaffir's fear

Denied the courser and the spear—

Though oft—Oh, Mahomet! how oft!—

In full Divan the despot scoffed,

As if my weak unwilling hand

Refused the bridle or the brand: 810

He ever went to war alone,

And pent me here untried—unknown;

To Haroun's care with women left,[go]

By hope unblest, of fame bereft,

While thou—whose softness long endeared,

Though it unmanned me, still had cheered—

To Brusa's walls for safety sent,

Awaited'st there the field's event.

Haroun who saw my spirit pining[gp]

Beneath inaction's sluggish yoke, 820

His captive, though with dread resigning,

My thraldom for a season broke,

On promise to return before

The day when Giaffir's charge was o'er.

'Tis vain—my tongue can not impart[gq]

My almost drunkenness of heart,[169]

When first this liberated eye

Surveyed Earth—Ocean—Sun—and Sky—

As if my Spirit pierced them through,

And all their inmost wonders knew! 830

One word alone can paint to thee

That more than feeling—I was Free!

E'en for thy presence ceased to pine;

The World—nay, Heaven itself was mine!