248 APPENDIX I

Tur, Salim, Jamshid, Minuchihr the brave, Have died ; for nothing had the power to save These mighty monarchs from the common doom ; They died, but blest in memory still they bloom. Thus kings too perish none on earth remain, Since all things human seek the dust again. 0, had thy father graced a kingly throne, Thy mother been for royal virtues known, A different fate the poet then had shared, Honours and wealth had been his just reward But how remote from thee a glorious line ! No high, ennobling ancestry is thine ; From a vile stock thy bold career began, A Blacksmith was thy sire of Isfahan. Alas ! from vice can goodness ever spring ? Is mercy hoped for in a tyrant king ? Can water wash the Ethiopian white ? Can we remove the darkness from the night? The tree to which a bitter fruit is given, Would still be bitter in the bowers of Heaven ; And a bad heart keeps on its vicious course ; Or if it changes, changes for the worse ; Whilst streams of milk, where Eden's flowrets blow, Acquire more honeyed sweetness as they flow. The reckless king who grinds the poor like thee, Must ever be consigned to infamy!