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Rh

As though it were her beauty's right; Or the sweet trembler by her side Shrinking abashed with modest grace, And striving all in vain to hide The blush upon her unveiled face. Their muslin robes are wrought with gold, The Syah's hem beset with spangles, And bright the Ornee's shining fold, And richly gemmed the glittering Bangles. Benares' far-famed webs have vied With Persia's rarest, finest loom; And for the last time each fair bride Has gazed upon her beauty's bloom In fitting pomp arrayed—too soon Their fleet career of life must fly; Ere they have reached their summer's noon, This lovely pair are doomed to die— Each soft chime from their anklets' bells Is ringing out their funeral knells.