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MOTHE

HASSAN'S GRAVE.

A TURBAN carved in coarsest stone, A pillar with rank weeds o'ergrown, Whereon can now be scarcely read The Koran verse that mourns the dead, Point out the spot where Hassan fell

A victim in that lonely dell.

There sleeps as true an Osmanlie

As e'er at Mecca bent the knee;

As ever scorn'd forbidden wine,

Or pray'd with face towards the shrine,

In orisons resumed anew

At solemn sound of "Alla Hu!"

Yet died he by a stranger's hand,
And stranger in his native land;
Yet died he as in arms he stood,
And unavenged, at least in blood.

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