Abduhl Rahaman

Dublin Core


Abduhl Rahaman


'Tis he of Afric. By the reedy marge

Of broad bright Niger, hath he chased the deer,

Or led his warriors to the battle charge,

When life's gay morning shone serenely clear.

Child of the cruel fate and blighted hope!

O sadly hath the morning changed and gone!

To thee that day spring never more shall ope,

Nor Fame, nor fickle Fortune, lead thee on!

The throne before him, e'en his own keen brand,

Forsook him early, as the mists of night

Forsake the river of his native land

Before the sun's o'erwhelming flood of light

But he hath gathered, in the land of slaves,

Far nobler aspirations, and hath built

His hope of future bliss above the waves

That dash'd the Moslem heaven and Moorish guilt.

And he shall hail again the coffee bowers,

And thick palm groves of Afric's sunny land;

But greet them not as in his boyhood's hours,

When thousands knelt to kiss that princely hand

And he shall dwell there as the humble dwell:

In beatific love, with soul serene -

And there shall rest, how sweetly none can tell,

By Niger's wave where droops the evergreen.




2:31, p. 247




From the Con. Mir.



U., “Abduhl Rahaman,” Periodical Poets, accessed May 18, 2024, https://periodicalpoets.com/items/show/179.


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