Classic Poem

O wretched Caliph! what avails thy boast,
That thronging nations own thy lordly sway!
See! the dear mistress of thy soul is lost,
Fair Saphadina, fair as flow'r in May,
Opening its beauties to the morning ray.
Let the pride wither of Idume's palm,
And o'er her grave let virgins hymn the lay;
Let it be deck'd with od'rous nard and balm,
O fair may be her fame! O may her soul be calm!