XI. Book of the Parsees :--
Dost not thou, like me, feel passion's flame?"
Presently denser became the crowd. Round some of the waggons.Men in a passion were quarrelling, women also were screaming.Then of a sudden approach'd an aged man with firm footstepMarching straight up to the fighters; and forthwith was hush'd the contention,When he bade them be still, and with fatherly earnestness threaten'd."Are we not yet," he exclaim'd, "by misfortune so knitted together,As to have learnt at length the art of reciprocal patienceAnd toleration, though each cannot measure the actions of others?Prosperous men indeed may quarrel! Will sorrow not teach youHow no longer as formerly you should quarrel with brethren?Each should give way to each other, when treading the soil of the stranger,And, as you hope for mercy yourselves, you should share your possessions."
Through him the gloomy winter night,
And the day grew bright and brighter ever;And I heard my neighbour's door unbolted,As he went to earn his daily wages,And ere long I heard the waggons rumbling,And the city gates were also open'd,While the market-place, in ev'ry corner,Teem'd with life and bustle and confusion.
Nine times encircling thy neck, loosely around it entwin'dOther and manifold trinkets I'll buy thee; gold-mounted bracelets,
With its palm-jubilee, so sweet and glad,
Then, before all things, the grace filling thy motions was seen.Oft have I fear'd that the pitcher perchance was in danger of falling,
His giant-step, as ye full surely knew,
Wonder no longer.
As at the door, on meeting lingerd she,
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