By the Wanderer. The scenes of innocence, the scenes of love. Then, then you with the whirlwinds swiftness theirs, In vain your wish, in vain your rising fears, The ruffians come, nor pitying nor afraid, But far from Abbas bear the trembling Maid. But pensive Solyman o'er hears her cries, Bursts from his prison and o'er the palace flies, Seizes the dagger, and with a well struck blow, Sends the pale tyrant to the realms below. All rights reserved.
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