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The very tones in which we spake

Had something strange, I could but mark ; The leaves of memory seemed to make

A mournful rustling in the dark.

Haroun, who felt that on a soul like this
The mightiest vengeance could but fall amiss,
Now deigned to smile, as one great lord of fate
Might smile upon another half as great.
He said: “Let worth grow frenzied if it will;
The caliph's judgment shall be master still.
Go, and since gifts so move thee, take this gem,
The richest in the Tartar's diadem,
And hold the giver as thou deemest fit!"
“Gifts !” cried the friend; he took, and hold-

ing it

Oft died the words upon our lips,

As suddenly, from out the fire Built of the wreck of stranded ships,

The flames would leap and then expire.

And, as their splendor flashed and failed,

We thought of wrecks upon the main, Of ships dismasted, that were hailed,

And sent no answer back again.

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