Page:Lalla Rookh - Moore - 1817.djvu/106

 In all the graceful gratitude of power, For his throne's safety in that perilous hour? Who doth not wonder, when, amidst the acclaim Of thousands heralding to heaven his name-- Mid all those holier harmonies of fame Which sound along the path of virtuous souls, Like music round a planet as it rolls,-- He turns away--coldly, as if some gloom Hung o'er his heart no triumphs can illume;-- Some sightless grief upon whose blasted gaze Tho' glory's light may play, in vain it plays. Yes, wretched AZIM! thine is such a grief, Beyond all hope, all terror, all relief! A dark, cold calm, which nothing now can break. Or warm or brighten,--Like that Syrian Lake Upon whose surface morn and summer shed Their smiles in vain, for all beneath is dead!-- Hearts there have been o'er which this weight of woe Came by long use of suffering, tame and slow; But thine, lost youth! was sudden--over thee It broke at once, when all seemed ecstasy;