Page:Lalla Rookh - Moore - 1817.djvu/62

 Are gone by moonlight to the garden-beds, To gather fresh, cool chaplets for their heads;-- Gay creatures! sweet, tho' mournful, 'tis to see How each prefers a garland from that tree Which brings to mind her childhood's innocent day And the dear fields and friendships far away. The maid of INDIA, blest again to hold In her full lap the Champac's leaves of gold, Thinks of the time when, by the GANGES' flood, Her little playmates scattered many a bud Upon her long black hair with glossy gleam Just dripping from the consecrated stream; While the young Arab haunted by the smell Of her own mountain flowers as by a spell,-- The sweet Alcaya and that courteous tree Which bows to all who seek its canopy,