WHENCE heaves my bosom with that swelling sigh?

Why throb the quicken’d pulses of my heart?

Why starts the trickling tear-drop from mine eye?

Ye dreams of long-lost HAPPINESS depart.

 

Too faithful MEMORY! wilt thou still remain,

Haunting my soul, a sadly-pleasing guest,

Transforming absent bliss to present pain!

Come sweet OBLIVION! come, and give me rest.

 

Why, ACHMED, thus thy destiny bemoan?

To others far more wretchedness belongs:

In their afflictive lot, forget thine own,

Think on the poor distracted ABDAL’s songs.

 

Think on his tales of visionary woe,

Doom’d every hour some varying dread to know.