But there is not a form of government which Damascus has not
experienced, excepting the representative, and not a creed which it has
not acknowledged, excepting the Protestant. Yet, deprived of the only
rule and the only religion that are right, it is still justly described
by the Arabian poets as a pearl surrounded by emeralds.
Yes, the rivers of Damascus still run and revel within and without the
walls, of which the steward of Sheikh Abraham was a citizen. They have
encompassed them with gardens, and filled them with fountains. They
gleam amid their groves of fruit, wind through their vivid meads,
sparkle-among perpetual flowers, gush from the walls, bubble in the
courtyards, dance and carol in the streets: everywhere their joyous
voices, everywhere their glancing forms, filling the whole world around
with freshness, and brilliancy, and fragrance, and life. One might
fancy, as we track them in their dazzling course, or suddenly making
their appearance in every spot and in every scene, that they were
the guardian spirits of the city. You have explained them, says the
utilitarian, the age and flourishing fortunes of Damascus: they arise
from its advantageous situation; it is well supplied with water.
Is it better supplied than the ruins of contiguous regions? Did the Nile
save Thebes? Did the Tigris preserve Nineveh? Did the Euphrates secure
Babylon?
Our scene lies in a chamber vast and gorgeous.
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