Detdiar sidj as efterluket wurden.
258
Still to the fainting pilgrim words of cheer
The sons of Ishmael spake,
Told of a well of living water near,
That deathly thirst to slake ;
And pointed to a verdant garden-close
Within the vision's scope,
Where El Arbaïn's rude, shattered arches rose
On Horeb's blasted slope.
There, pillowed soon beneath that welcome shade,
I heard the fountain's drip,
Then felt the o'erflowing cup of coolness laid
Against my burning lip.
Oh! never juice, drawn from the choicest vine
Whose favored root is fed
At the pure sources of the boasted Rhine,
Or oldest river's head, —
