George Canning

“ Nor strange that hence, with pious gifts array'd,
Thy shrine revered the Moslem tribes invade;
Such duteous zeal the Prophet's laws demand,
And fabled raptures of his promised land.
For woe to him, who ne'er with awe profound
At Mecca's shrine hath kiss'd the holy ground :
For him, denied celestial joys to share,
No blooming Houris shall his couch prepare;
But his the doom, where countless horrors reign,
To feel a dark eternity of pain;
Of deep remorse the bitter tear to shed,
Each hope of Paradise for ever fled.
Behold! one impulse every heart enthralls ”

“ Proud of the gifts he bears to Mecca's shrine;
For all their wants his watchful care provides,
His pow'r protects them, and his counsel guides.
Lo! where the chosen guards, in awe profound,
With closing ranks their Sultan's gifts surround,
Where tapestried wonders, to the sight unroll'd,
Mix their rich splendour with the beaming gold,
To music's sounds where denser squadrons move,
And tow'ring lances form a leafless grove,—
Bright with the lustre of the solar rays,
The Crescent standard all its pride displays. ”

“ Saw, as the holy ground with awe he trod,
Reveal'd in flame the glory of his God :
Yet, while the radiance Horeb's brow illumed,
No eye beheld the burning bush consumed.
Onward the phalanx moves: yet fear demands
Augmented force 'mid Egypt's trackless sands ;
Forbids a scatter'd and defenceless train
Too boldly haste the Holy Land to gain ;
Till to their view, in martial pride display'd,
The Sultan's troops confirm securer aid. ”