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And the canes that shook as if winds were high, When the fiery steed of the waste swept by; And the camp as it lay, like a billowy sea, Wide round the sheltering Banian tree.

There stood one tent from the rest apart— That was the place of a wounded heart. —Oh! deep is a wounded heart, and strong A voice that cries against mighty wrong; And full of death, as a hot wind's blight, Doth the ire of a crush'd affection light.

Maimuna from realm to realm had pass'd, And her tale had rung like a trumpet's blast. There had been words from her pale lips pour'd, Each one a spell to unsheath the sword. The Tartar had sprung from his steed to hear, And the dark chief of Araby grasp'd his spear, Till a chain of long lances begirt the wall, And a vow was recorded that doom'd its fall.