God is of the east possess’d,
God is ruler of the west;
North and south alike, each land
Rests within His gentle hand.
-----
He, the only righteous one,
Wills that right to each be done. 
’Mongst His hundred titles, then,
Highest praised be this!—­Amen.
-----
Error seeketh to deceive me,
Thou art able to retrieve me;
Both in action and in song
Keep my course from going wrong.

1819.*
-----
The four favours.

That Arabs through the realms of space

May wander on, light-hearted,
Great Allah hath, to all their race,

Four favours meet imparted.

The turban first—­that ornament

All regal crowns excelling;
A light and ever-shifting tent,

Wherein to make our dwelling;

A sword, which, more than rocks and walls

Doth shield us, brightly glistening;
A song that profits and enthrall,

For which the maids are list’ning!

1814.
-----
Discord.

When by the brook his strain

Cupid is fluting,
And on the neighboring plain

Mayors disputing,
There turns the ear ere long,

Loving and tender,
Yet to the noise a song

Soon must surrender. 
Loud then the flute-notes glad

Sound ’mid war’s thunder;
If I grow raving mad,

Is it a wonder? 
Flutes sing and trumpets bray,

Waxing yet stronger;
If, then, my senses stray,

Wonder no longer.

1814.
-----
Song and structure.

Let the Greek his plastic clay

Mould in human fashion,
While his own creation may

Wake his glowing passion;

But it is our joy to court

Great Euphrates’ torrent,
Here and there at will to sport

In the Wat’ry current.

Quench’d I thus my spirit’s flame,

Songs had soon resounded;
Water drawn by bards whose fame

Pure is, may be rounded.+

1819.* (+ This oriental belief in the power of the pure to roll-up water into a crystal hail is made the foundation of the Interesting Pariah Legend, that will be found elsewhere amongst the Ballads.) ----- II.  Hafis name.

BOOK OF HAFIS.

Spirit let us bridegroom call,

And the word the bride;
Known this wedding is to all

Who have Hafis tried.

The unlimited.

That thou can’t never end, doth make thee great,
And that thou ne’er beginnest, is thy fate. 
Thy song is changeful as yon starry frame,
End and beginning evermore the same;
And what the middle bringeth, but contains
What was at first, and what at last remains. 
Thou art of joy the true and minstrel-source,
From thee pours wave on wave with ceaseless force. 
A mouth that’s aye prepared to kiss,