1. My tents complain with mournful echo's tone,
My camels wander riderless, alone;

2. The seeker of renown no more will fling
His tents where they must base dishonor bring;

3. Why chide my indolence with bitter blame,
When every excuse my lips could frame

4. Might justly plead? Of destiny I know
Nor why, nor when, she deals the fatal blow.

5. My verses picture many a garden gay,
Where flowers in bright profusion strew the way;

6. For song no honor brings, and Kings disdain
The minstrel's art for sordid greed of gain.