What, tho’ with magic influence, sleep,
  O’er every closing eyelid creep: 
  Tho’ drunk with its oblivious wine
  Our comrades on their bales recline,
  My Selim’s trance I sure can break—­
  Selim, ’tis I, ’tis I who speak. 
  Dangers on every side impend,
  And sleep’st thou, careless of thy friend? 
  Thou sleep’st while every star on high,
  Beholds me with a wakeful eye—­
  Thou changest, ere the changeful night
  Hath streak’d her fleeting robe with white.

  ’Tis love that hurries me along—­
  I’m deaf to fear’s repressive song—­
  The rocks of Idham I’ll ascend,
  Tho’ adverse darts each path defend,
  And hostile sabres glitter there,
  To guard the tresses of the fair.

  Come, Selim, let us pierce the grove,
  While night befriends, to seek my love. 
  The clouds of fragrance as they rise
  Shall mark the place where Abla lies. 
  Around her tent my jealous foes,
  Like lions, spread their watchful rows;
  Amidst their bands, her bow’r appears
  Embosom’d in a wood of spears—­
  A wood still nourish’d by the dews,
  Which smiles, and softest looks diffuse. 
  Thrice happy youths! who midst yon shades
  Sweet converse hold with Idham’s maids,
  What bliss, to view them gild the hours,
  And brighten wit and fancy’s powers,
  While every foible they disclose
  New transport gives, new graces shows. 
  ’Tis theirs to raise with conscious art
  The flames of love in every heart;
  ’Tis yours to raise with festive glee
  The flames of hospitality: 
  Smit by their glances lovers lie,
  And helpless sink and hopeless die;
  While slain by you the stately steed
  To crown the feast, is doom’d to bleed,
  To crown the feast, where copious flows
  The sparkling juice that soothes your woes,
  That lulls each care and heals each wound,
  As the enlivening bowl goes round. 
  Amidst those vales my eager feet
  Shall trace my Abla’s dear retreat,
  A gale of health may hover there,
  To breathe some solace to my care. 
  I fear not love—­I bless the dart
  Sent in a glance to pierce the heart: 
  With willing breast the sword I hail
  That wounds me thro’ an half-clos’d veil: 
  Tho’ lions howling round the shade,
  My footsteps haunt, my walks invade,
  No fears shall drive me from the grove,
  If Abla listen to my love.

  Ah, Selim! shall the spells of ease
  Thy friendship chain, thine ardor freeze! 
  Wilt thou enchanted thus, decline
  Each gen’rous thought, each bold design? 
  Then far from men some cell prepare;
  Or build a mansion in the air—­
  But yield to us, ambition’s tide,
  Who fearless on its waves can ride;
  Enough for thee if thou receive
  The scattered spray the billows leave.