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.