Iii monologue — Ismael; an oriental tale. With other poems

The hotly-beaming orb of noon-day’s sky, Illum’d green Caymyr with his golden eye, And cast a mellowing splendour, warm and bright, O’er many a scene of beauty and delight. Here the soft waters gliding, like the hours, Through balmy banks of variegated flow’rs; And here the camp, and here the martial train, That, like himself, cast lustre on the plain: And there, o’er yon wide hill, that grove of trees, That fling their fragrance t’ th’ enamour’d breeze; 90 While where they leave an op’ning, give to view Some tow’r, or temple, proudly frowning through:-- All seem’d as if in Union’s silken bands, Young Love, and glorious War, had met to join their hands.