Waft, gentle gale
Waft, gentle gale, oh waft to Samarcand,
When next thou visitest that blissful land,
The plaint of Khorasania plunged in woe:
Beart to Turania's King our piteous scroll,
Whose opening brathes forth all the anguished soul,
And close denotes what all the tortur'd know.
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