THE DYING HADGI.

I.With downcast brow and ling’ring feet,Who leaves that richly cushion’d seat?And why that deep convulsive sigh?Thou veiled Beauty, tell me why?’Twas Selim left that cushion’d seat,With downcast brow and ling’ring feet.II.And she who loves him more than life,That dark eyed maid—his promised wife,Whose gath’ring tears bedim each eye,Twas she who sigh’d convulsively;For Selim starts that very dayHis vows at Mecca’s shrine to pay.III.It must be so—for all must part;There lives no man, whose youthful heartHas never ached when he has heard,Farewell—farewell—that saddening word!Unless the heart is cased in steel,This is a pang that all must feel.IV.How oft beneath the moon’s pale ray,Have parting tears been wiped away,While others soon their place supply,As though the fount could ne’er be dry!Ah! Stoics! vain are all your sneers;They speak of pain, those parting tears.V.Cheer up, young Selim! time will fly,Though lovers oft this ruth deny,And say he lags upon the road;But urge him with thy sharpest goad,Keep a light heart, an active mind,And leave thy vain regrets behind.VI.And thou, pale Beauty! weeping sore,Raise up thy head, and weep no more,And bless thy fate that thou hast knownThy future husband; thou alone,Of all thy young companions, artThus blest in giving up thy heart.[17]

With downcast brow and ling’ring feet,Who leaves that richly cushion’d seat?And why that deep convulsive sigh?Thou veiled Beauty, tell me why?’Twas Selim left that cushion’d seat,With downcast brow and ling’ring feet.

With downcast brow and ling’ring feet,

Who leaves that richly cushion’d seat?

And why that deep convulsive sigh?

Thou veiled Beauty, tell me why?

’Twas Selim left that cushion’d seat,

With downcast brow and ling’ring feet.

II.

And she who loves him more than life,That dark eyed maid—his promised wife,Whose gath’ring tears bedim each eye,Twas she who sigh’d convulsively;For Selim starts that very dayHis vows at Mecca’s shrine to pay.

And she who loves him more than life,

That dark eyed maid—his promised wife,

Whose gath’ring tears bedim each eye,

Twas she who sigh’d convulsively;

For Selim starts that very day

His vows at Mecca’s shrine to pay.

III.

It must be so—for all must part;There lives no man, whose youthful heartHas never ached when he has heard,Farewell—farewell—that saddening word!Unless the heart is cased in steel,This is a pang that all must feel.

It must be so—for all must part;

There lives no man, whose youthful heart

Has never ached when he has heard,

Farewell—farewell—that saddening word!

Unless the heart is cased in steel,

This is a pang that all must feel.

IV.

How oft beneath the moon’s pale ray,Have parting tears been wiped away,While others soon their place supply,As though the fount could ne’er be dry!Ah! Stoics! vain are all your sneers;They speak of pain, those parting tears.

How oft beneath the moon’s pale ray,

Have parting tears been wiped away,

While others soon their place supply,

As though the fount could ne’er be dry!

Ah! Stoics! vain are all your sneers;

They speak of pain, those parting tears.

Cheer up, young Selim! time will fly,Though lovers oft this ruth deny,And say he lags upon the road;But urge him with thy sharpest goad,Keep a light heart, an active mind,And leave thy vain regrets behind.

Cheer up, young Selim! time will fly,

Though lovers oft this ruth deny,

And say he lags upon the road;

But urge him with thy sharpest goad,

Keep a light heart, an active mind,

And leave thy vain regrets behind.

VI.

And thou, pale Beauty! weeping sore,Raise up thy head, and weep no more,And bless thy fate that thou hast knownThy future husband; thou alone,Of all thy young companions, artThus blest in giving up thy heart.[17]

And thou, pale Beauty! weeping sore,

Raise up thy head, and weep no more,

And bless thy fate that thou hast known

Thy future husband; thou alone,

Of all thy young companions, art

Thus blest in giving up thy heart.[17]

VII.

One last fond look the youth bestows,And Selim with his father goes,To take his place amid the bandWho journey to a distant land;The high, the low, the dark, the fair,The master and the slave are there.VIII.And now each stately MussulmanHas joined the starting caravan,And rich and poor alike press onTo Mecca’s shrine; that journey done,Life’s greatest object is attained,And Paradise is surely gained.IX.Thus every man beneath the sunTo some vain pilgrimage doth run;The heights of pleasure and of fameAre lighted by a dazzling flame;And every man, with fond design,Bends low at some forbidden shrine.X.The caravan is on its way;And, decked with varied colors gay,The sacred camel marches on,Proud of his grand caparison;It hath been so since time began,Brutes imitate their master, man.XI.O! ’tis a splendid sight to seeThe gorgeous banners waving free!From distant lands the pilgrims come,With zeal that shames all christendom;They hope t’ avert a future doom,By bending at their prophet’s tomb.XII.The Arab guide his mournful songChants slowly, as he moves along,And, mounting to the cloudless sky,The hookah’s[18]smoke ascends on high;And every step springs light and free—O! ’tis a goodly company!XIII.But little weens the hadgi now,How suffering may blanch his brow;The horrors of the fell Simoom[19]Not yet have filled his heart with gloom;But still the hour comes on, when allBeneath its fiery breath may fall.XIV.Some fall, alas! no more to rise,For death cuts short their agonies;And others only live to feelThe pangs of thirst upon them steal,To long for what they cannot taste,And slowly die upon the waste.XV.O! ’tis a fearful death to die,That slow consuming agony!To feel the heart’s pulsation stop,The blood creep slowly, drop by drop!To struggle with a burning fire,And, parch’d with raging thirst, expire!XVI.Long on the desert have they been,And not one spot of cheerful greenTheir languid eyes have gazed upon,And ling’ring hope is almost gone.Their scanty store of water tooIs gone; what may the pilgrims do?XVII.O! for some intervening cloud,Arabia’s burning sun to shroud!O! for some sheltering rock, to castIts shadow on the dreary waste!O! for some fountain spark’ling clear,Or Hagar’s friendly angel near!XVIII.The hills of sand on every side,Like waves of ocean, petrifiedWhile high their restless forms did run,Stand whitening in the bleaching sun.All parch’d and bare the ground below,The heaven above one scorching glow!XIX.“O! give me water, e’er I die”—This was the fainting pilgrim’s cry:But who could help? that dreadful hourWas one when friendship had no powerTo mitigate the sufferer’s pain;—The dying hadgi called in vain!XX.Stretch’d on the burning sands he lay,And in his eye the sparkling ray—The index of his soul, grew dim;Now what was all his wealth to him?We would have given all to buyOne drop of water—none was nigh.XXI.“O! father! father! canst thou bearTo die, thy journey’s end so near?This dreadful desert almost pass’d,And wilt thou, father! sink at last?”Thus spoke the hadgi’s noble son,His darling boy—his only one!XXII.’Twas Selim spake—his father nowGazed on his face with troubled brow,And ’twas for him escaped the sigh,And sprang the teardrop from his eye;’Twas hard to part from Selim there,Where all was woe, and blank despair.XXIII.’Tis sad to see proud manhood lieAs weak as helpless infancy!Not one in all that caravanWith stronger heart their march began,Than he, whose long drawn, gasping breathWas wavering ’twixt life and death.XXIV.So is it often here below,The strongest are the first to bowBeneath the ruthless storms of life;The proud man sinks—the gentle wifeUprises ’mid the stormy blast,And smiles until its rage be past.XXV.The father turned his failing eyeUpon his boy—he rais’d on highHis trembling hand, and faintly said,“Allah protect him when I’m dead!”Then laid his hand upon his breast,And sigh’d, “I soon shall be at rest.”XXVI.“O! die not thus, my father! no!I would not have thee perish so!”Thus spake the boy, then made a signTo those around; “You know ’tis mine,”He said, “to promise wealth, ’tis yoursTo gain it—now the richest storesXXVII.“I’ll give to him who brings me first,A draught to quench this dying thirst;My noble father must not die;Who brings me water, thus will buyThe princely wealth I have to give—Haste then, and bid my father live.”XXVIII.But all are silent—there they standLike statues, all that turban’d band;For who could do his bidding, who?When they were nearly dying too?They now prepare to travel on,Ere life’s last energy is gone.XXIX.“And must I leave my father here?”Cried out the boy, in wild despair;“It must not be; he is not dead,And I will hope till life has fled;I’ll bear him in my bosom, whereSweet water gushes, bright and clear.”XXX.He said, and rais’d his father’s form;He found his heart still beating warm;The hope of saving him at lengthEndued him with a giant’s strength;And while the patient camel knelt,Tumultuous joy young Selim felt.XXXI.Now onward moves the caravan;The movement wakes the dying man;The houdah[20]is a place of rest,For he reclines on Selim’s breast;A faint breeze comes, and seems to giveNew life, and bid the dying live.XXXII.He softly murmurs in his dreams,Of cooling shades, and flowing streams;Perhaps he sees, that dying man,The fountain in his own divan;And while he hears its gurgling sound,He sees his loved ones all around.XXXIII.Dream on—dream on—for never moreThou’lt pass the threshold of thy door.Smile not, young Selim! death is near,Though Hope is whisp’ring in thine ear!No—Selim—no—’tis but the strifeWhen mortals bid adieu to life.XXXIV.The panting beast, with ling’ring tread,Bears on the dying and the dead;For Selim’s father breaths no more,And Selim bows to sorrow’s power.How oft, when hope is prostrate laid,Oblivion lends her friendly aid!XXXV.And now the wild ArabianWatches the weakened caravan;He knows when death has done its workOn many a proud and wealthy Turk;And there are signs he knows full well,Which tales of suffering weakness tell;XXXVI.When deep despair has seized on all;And every jaded animalBut creeps his weary way along,And jest, and laugh, and merry songAre hush’d—and all is silent there,Save the deep sigh, or mutter’d prayer.XXXVII.A palm tree in the desert—ho!Now see how cheerily they go!For Hope has lit her sparkling light,And every sadden’d eye grows bright.Farewell to every boding fear!The palm tree marks a streamlet near!XXXVIII.The baffled robber wheels around,And fast his steed flies o’er the ground;For men who but an hour beforeWere faint and weak, are weak no more!Who knows what mortals can endure,When hope leads on, and help is sure?XXXIX.’Tis reach’d at length—the blessed spot!But son and father heed it not.O’er one oblivion’s wing is spread,And one is numbered with the dead:And O! ’twould save most bitter pain,Could Selim never wake again!XL.Now, prostrate bending to the wave,How drink the master and the slave!And ’tis the most delicious draughtThat ever weary traveler quaff’d!With blessings on the purling rill,Each toil-worn pilgrim drinks his fill.XLI.But, fainting nature satisfied,They now repair to Selim’s side;And there, within the houdah, seeA picture of mortality!And, struck with sorrow, every oneBewails the father and the son.XLII.But soon they know that Selim lives,And each some prompt attention gives;They bear him to a shaded place,And bathe his pallid, deathlike face;And now he heaves a deep drawn sigh,And gazes round with languid eye.XLIII.“Young Selim! there is water near!O, list thee now, and thou wilt hearThe murm’ring of a blessed stream;Cheer up! it is no fev’rish dream!See nature’s best restorative!Poor fainting Selim! drink and live!”XLIV.But Selim hears not. On his browThe damps of death are gath’ring now;And, though no sound is plainly heard,His lips pronounce some cherish’d word;For while he goes through death’s lone shade,His thoughts are with his dark eyed maid.XLV.And she, within her splendid home,Will wonder why he does not come;And, wand’ring through the marble halls,Where many a tear in secret falls,Will vainly hope from day to day,While creep the tardy hours away.XLVI.And through the shady citron grove,At morn and eve the maid will rove,And, gazing on the verdant ground,Will start at every rust’ling sound,And, pale with mingled hope and fear,Will look to see her love appear.XLVII.O! lady! Selim will not come—Thou’lt never bid him “welcome home”—With sick’ning pangs thou’lt weep apart,Till hope forsakes thy fresh young heart;And then, in silent agony,That heart will break, and breaking, die!

One last fond look the youth bestows,

And Selim with his father goes,

To take his place amid the band

Who journey to a distant land;

The high, the low, the dark, the fair,

The master and the slave are there.

VIII.

And now each stately MussulmanHas joined the starting caravan,And rich and poor alike press onTo Mecca’s shrine; that journey done,Life’s greatest object is attained,And Paradise is surely gained.

And now each stately Mussulman

Has joined the starting caravan,

And rich and poor alike press on

To Mecca’s shrine; that journey done,

Life’s greatest object is attained,

And Paradise is surely gained.

IX.

Thus every man beneath the sunTo some vain pilgrimage doth run;The heights of pleasure and of fameAre lighted by a dazzling flame;And every man, with fond design,Bends low at some forbidden shrine.

Thus every man beneath the sun

To some vain pilgrimage doth run;

The heights of pleasure and of fame

Are lighted by a dazzling flame;

And every man, with fond design,

Bends low at some forbidden shrine.

The caravan is on its way;And, decked with varied colors gay,The sacred camel marches on,Proud of his grand caparison;It hath been so since time began,Brutes imitate their master, man.

The caravan is on its way;

And, decked with varied colors gay,

The sacred camel marches on,

Proud of his grand caparison;

It hath been so since time began,

Brutes imitate their master, man.

XI.

O! ’tis a splendid sight to seeThe gorgeous banners waving free!From distant lands the pilgrims come,With zeal that shames all christendom;They hope t’ avert a future doom,By bending at their prophet’s tomb.

O! ’tis a splendid sight to see

The gorgeous banners waving free!

From distant lands the pilgrims come,

With zeal that shames all christendom;

They hope t’ avert a future doom,

By bending at their prophet’s tomb.

XII.

The Arab guide his mournful songChants slowly, as he moves along,And, mounting to the cloudless sky,The hookah’s[18]smoke ascends on high;And every step springs light and free—O! ’tis a goodly company!

The Arab guide his mournful song

Chants slowly, as he moves along,

And, mounting to the cloudless sky,

The hookah’s[18]smoke ascends on high;

And every step springs light and free—

O! ’tis a goodly company!

XIII.

But little weens the hadgi now,How suffering may blanch his brow;The horrors of the fell Simoom[19]Not yet have filled his heart with gloom;But still the hour comes on, when allBeneath its fiery breath may fall.

But little weens the hadgi now,

How suffering may blanch his brow;

The horrors of the fell Simoom[19]

Not yet have filled his heart with gloom;

But still the hour comes on, when all

Beneath its fiery breath may fall.

XIV.

Some fall, alas! no more to rise,For death cuts short their agonies;And others only live to feelThe pangs of thirst upon them steal,To long for what they cannot taste,And slowly die upon the waste.

Some fall, alas! no more to rise,

For death cuts short their agonies;

And others only live to feel

The pangs of thirst upon them steal,

To long for what they cannot taste,

And slowly die upon the waste.

XV.

O! ’tis a fearful death to die,That slow consuming agony!To feel the heart’s pulsation stop,The blood creep slowly, drop by drop!To struggle with a burning fire,And, parch’d with raging thirst, expire!

O! ’tis a fearful death to die,

That slow consuming agony!

To feel the heart’s pulsation stop,

The blood creep slowly, drop by drop!

To struggle with a burning fire,

And, parch’d with raging thirst, expire!

XVI.

Long on the desert have they been,And not one spot of cheerful greenTheir languid eyes have gazed upon,And ling’ring hope is almost gone.Their scanty store of water tooIs gone; what may the pilgrims do?

Long on the desert have they been,

And not one spot of cheerful green

Their languid eyes have gazed upon,

And ling’ring hope is almost gone.

Their scanty store of water too

Is gone; what may the pilgrims do?

XVII.

O! for some intervening cloud,Arabia’s burning sun to shroud!O! for some sheltering rock, to castIts shadow on the dreary waste!O! for some fountain spark’ling clear,Or Hagar’s friendly angel near!

O! for some intervening cloud,

Arabia’s burning sun to shroud!

O! for some sheltering rock, to cast

Its shadow on the dreary waste!

O! for some fountain spark’ling clear,

Or Hagar’s friendly angel near!

XVIII.

The hills of sand on every side,Like waves of ocean, petrifiedWhile high their restless forms did run,Stand whitening in the bleaching sun.All parch’d and bare the ground below,The heaven above one scorching glow!

The hills of sand on every side,

Like waves of ocean, petrified

While high their restless forms did run,

Stand whitening in the bleaching sun.

All parch’d and bare the ground below,

The heaven above one scorching glow!

XIX.

“O! give me water, e’er I die”—This was the fainting pilgrim’s cry:But who could help? that dreadful hourWas one when friendship had no powerTo mitigate the sufferer’s pain;—The dying hadgi called in vain!

“O! give me water, e’er I die”—

This was the fainting pilgrim’s cry:

But who could help? that dreadful hour

Was one when friendship had no power

To mitigate the sufferer’s pain;

—The dying hadgi called in vain!

XX.

Stretch’d on the burning sands he lay,And in his eye the sparkling ray—The index of his soul, grew dim;Now what was all his wealth to him?We would have given all to buyOne drop of water—none was nigh.

Stretch’d on the burning sands he lay,

And in his eye the sparkling ray—

The index of his soul, grew dim;

Now what was all his wealth to him?

We would have given all to buy

One drop of water—none was nigh.

XXI.

“O! father! father! canst thou bearTo die, thy journey’s end so near?This dreadful desert almost pass’d,And wilt thou, father! sink at last?”Thus spoke the hadgi’s noble son,His darling boy—his only one!

“O! father! father! canst thou bear

To die, thy journey’s end so near?

This dreadful desert almost pass’d,

And wilt thou, father! sink at last?”

Thus spoke the hadgi’s noble son,

His darling boy—his only one!

XXII.

’Twas Selim spake—his father nowGazed on his face with troubled brow,And ’twas for him escaped the sigh,And sprang the teardrop from his eye;’Twas hard to part from Selim there,Where all was woe, and blank despair.

’Twas Selim spake—his father now

Gazed on his face with troubled brow,

And ’twas for him escaped the sigh,

And sprang the teardrop from his eye;

’Twas hard to part from Selim there,

Where all was woe, and blank despair.

XXIII.

’Tis sad to see proud manhood lieAs weak as helpless infancy!Not one in all that caravanWith stronger heart their march began,Than he, whose long drawn, gasping breathWas wavering ’twixt life and death.

’Tis sad to see proud manhood lie

As weak as helpless infancy!

Not one in all that caravan

With stronger heart their march began,

Than he, whose long drawn, gasping breath

Was wavering ’twixt life and death.

XXIV.

So is it often here below,The strongest are the first to bowBeneath the ruthless storms of life;The proud man sinks—the gentle wifeUprises ’mid the stormy blast,And smiles until its rage be past.

So is it often here below,

The strongest are the first to bow

Beneath the ruthless storms of life;

The proud man sinks—the gentle wife

Uprises ’mid the stormy blast,

And smiles until its rage be past.

XXV.

The father turned his failing eyeUpon his boy—he rais’d on highHis trembling hand, and faintly said,“Allah protect him when I’m dead!”Then laid his hand upon his breast,And sigh’d, “I soon shall be at rest.”

The father turned his failing eye

Upon his boy—he rais’d on high

His trembling hand, and faintly said,

“Allah protect him when I’m dead!”

Then laid his hand upon his breast,

And sigh’d, “I soon shall be at rest.”

XXVI.

“O! die not thus, my father! no!I would not have thee perish so!”Thus spake the boy, then made a signTo those around; “You know ’tis mine,”He said, “to promise wealth, ’tis yoursTo gain it—now the richest stores

“O! die not thus, my father! no!

I would not have thee perish so!”

Thus spake the boy, then made a sign

To those around; “You know ’tis mine,”

He said, “to promise wealth, ’tis yours

To gain it—now the richest stores

XXVII.

“I’ll give to him who brings me first,A draught to quench this dying thirst;My noble father must not die;Who brings me water, thus will buyThe princely wealth I have to give—Haste then, and bid my father live.”

“I’ll give to him who brings me first,

A draught to quench this dying thirst;

My noble father must not die;

Who brings me water, thus will buy

The princely wealth I have to give—

Haste then, and bid my father live.”

XXVIII.

But all are silent—there they standLike statues, all that turban’d band;For who could do his bidding, who?When they were nearly dying too?They now prepare to travel on,Ere life’s last energy is gone.

But all are silent—there they stand

Like statues, all that turban’d band;

For who could do his bidding, who?

When they were nearly dying too?

They now prepare to travel on,

Ere life’s last energy is gone.

XXIX.

“And must I leave my father here?”Cried out the boy, in wild despair;“It must not be; he is not dead,And I will hope till life has fled;I’ll bear him in my bosom, whereSweet water gushes, bright and clear.”

“And must I leave my father here?”

Cried out the boy, in wild despair;

“It must not be; he is not dead,

And I will hope till life has fled;

I’ll bear him in my bosom, where

Sweet water gushes, bright and clear.”

XXX.

He said, and rais’d his father’s form;He found his heart still beating warm;The hope of saving him at lengthEndued him with a giant’s strength;And while the patient camel knelt,Tumultuous joy young Selim felt.

He said, and rais’d his father’s form;

He found his heart still beating warm;

The hope of saving him at length

Endued him with a giant’s strength;

And while the patient camel knelt,

Tumultuous joy young Selim felt.

XXXI.

Now onward moves the caravan;The movement wakes the dying man;The houdah[20]is a place of rest,For he reclines on Selim’s breast;A faint breeze comes, and seems to giveNew life, and bid the dying live.

Now onward moves the caravan;

The movement wakes the dying man;

The houdah[20]is a place of rest,

For he reclines on Selim’s breast;

A faint breeze comes, and seems to give

New life, and bid the dying live.

XXXII.

He softly murmurs in his dreams,Of cooling shades, and flowing streams;Perhaps he sees, that dying man,The fountain in his own divan;And while he hears its gurgling sound,He sees his loved ones all around.

He softly murmurs in his dreams,

Of cooling shades, and flowing streams;

Perhaps he sees, that dying man,

The fountain in his own divan;

And while he hears its gurgling sound,

He sees his loved ones all around.

XXXIII.

Dream on—dream on—for never moreThou’lt pass the threshold of thy door.Smile not, young Selim! death is near,Though Hope is whisp’ring in thine ear!No—Selim—no—’tis but the strifeWhen mortals bid adieu to life.

Dream on—dream on—for never more

Thou’lt pass the threshold of thy door.

Smile not, young Selim! death is near,

Though Hope is whisp’ring in thine ear!

No—Selim—no—’tis but the strife

When mortals bid adieu to life.

XXXIV.

The panting beast, with ling’ring tread,Bears on the dying and the dead;For Selim’s father breaths no more,And Selim bows to sorrow’s power.How oft, when hope is prostrate laid,Oblivion lends her friendly aid!

The panting beast, with ling’ring tread,

Bears on the dying and the dead;

For Selim’s father breaths no more,

And Selim bows to sorrow’s power.

How oft, when hope is prostrate laid,

Oblivion lends her friendly aid!

XXXV.

And now the wild ArabianWatches the weakened caravan;He knows when death has done its workOn many a proud and wealthy Turk;And there are signs he knows full well,Which tales of suffering weakness tell;

And now the wild Arabian

Watches the weakened caravan;

He knows when death has done its work

On many a proud and wealthy Turk;

And there are signs he knows full well,

Which tales of suffering weakness tell;

XXXVI.

When deep despair has seized on all;And every jaded animalBut creeps his weary way along,And jest, and laugh, and merry songAre hush’d—and all is silent there,Save the deep sigh, or mutter’d prayer.

When deep despair has seized on all;

And every jaded animal

But creeps his weary way along,

And jest, and laugh, and merry song

Are hush’d—and all is silent there,

Save the deep sigh, or mutter’d prayer.

XXXVII.

A palm tree in the desert—ho!Now see how cheerily they go!For Hope has lit her sparkling light,And every sadden’d eye grows bright.Farewell to every boding fear!The palm tree marks a streamlet near!

A palm tree in the desert—ho!

Now see how cheerily they go!

For Hope has lit her sparkling light,

And every sadden’d eye grows bright.

Farewell to every boding fear!

The palm tree marks a streamlet near!

XXXVIII.

The baffled robber wheels around,And fast his steed flies o’er the ground;For men who but an hour beforeWere faint and weak, are weak no more!Who knows what mortals can endure,When hope leads on, and help is sure?

The baffled robber wheels around,

And fast his steed flies o’er the ground;

For men who but an hour before

Were faint and weak, are weak no more!

Who knows what mortals can endure,

When hope leads on, and help is sure?

XXXIX.

’Tis reach’d at length—the blessed spot!But son and father heed it not.O’er one oblivion’s wing is spread,And one is numbered with the dead:And O! ’twould save most bitter pain,Could Selim never wake again!

’Tis reach’d at length—the blessed spot!

But son and father heed it not.

O’er one oblivion’s wing is spread,

And one is numbered with the dead:

And O! ’twould save most bitter pain,

Could Selim never wake again!

XL.

Now, prostrate bending to the wave,How drink the master and the slave!And ’tis the most delicious draughtThat ever weary traveler quaff’d!With blessings on the purling rill,Each toil-worn pilgrim drinks his fill.

Now, prostrate bending to the wave,

How drink the master and the slave!

And ’tis the most delicious draught

That ever weary traveler quaff’d!

With blessings on the purling rill,

Each toil-worn pilgrim drinks his fill.

XLI.

But, fainting nature satisfied,They now repair to Selim’s side;And there, within the houdah, seeA picture of mortality!And, struck with sorrow, every oneBewails the father and the son.

But, fainting nature satisfied,

They now repair to Selim’s side;

And there, within the houdah, see

A picture of mortality!

And, struck with sorrow, every one

Bewails the father and the son.

XLII.

But soon they know that Selim lives,And each some prompt attention gives;They bear him to a shaded place,And bathe his pallid, deathlike face;And now he heaves a deep drawn sigh,And gazes round with languid eye.

But soon they know that Selim lives,

And each some prompt attention gives;

They bear him to a shaded place,

And bathe his pallid, deathlike face;

And now he heaves a deep drawn sigh,

And gazes round with languid eye.

XLIII.

“Young Selim! there is water near!O, list thee now, and thou wilt hearThe murm’ring of a blessed stream;Cheer up! it is no fev’rish dream!See nature’s best restorative!Poor fainting Selim! drink and live!”

“Young Selim! there is water near!

O, list thee now, and thou wilt hear

The murm’ring of a blessed stream;

Cheer up! it is no fev’rish dream!

See nature’s best restorative!

Poor fainting Selim! drink and live!”

XLIV.

But Selim hears not. On his browThe damps of death are gath’ring now;And, though no sound is plainly heard,His lips pronounce some cherish’d word;For while he goes through death’s lone shade,His thoughts are with his dark eyed maid.

But Selim hears not. On his brow

The damps of death are gath’ring now;

And, though no sound is plainly heard,

His lips pronounce some cherish’d word;

For while he goes through death’s lone shade,

His thoughts are with his dark eyed maid.

XLV.

And she, within her splendid home,Will wonder why he does not come;And, wand’ring through the marble halls,Where many a tear in secret falls,Will vainly hope from day to day,While creep the tardy hours away.

And she, within her splendid home,

Will wonder why he does not come;

And, wand’ring through the marble halls,

Where many a tear in secret falls,

Will vainly hope from day to day,

While creep the tardy hours away.

XLVI.

And through the shady citron grove,At morn and eve the maid will rove,And, gazing on the verdant ground,Will start at every rust’ling sound,And, pale with mingled hope and fear,Will look to see her love appear.

And through the shady citron grove,

At morn and eve the maid will rove,

And, gazing on the verdant ground,

Will start at every rust’ling sound,

And, pale with mingled hope and fear,

Will look to see her love appear.

XLVII.

O! lady! Selim will not come—Thou’lt never bid him “welcome home”—With sick’ning pangs thou’lt weep apart,Till hope forsakes thy fresh young heart;And then, in silent agony,That heart will break, and breaking, die!

O! lady! Selim will not come—

Thou’lt never bid him “welcome home”—

With sick’ning pangs thou’lt weep apart,

Till hope forsakes thy fresh young heart;

And then, in silent agony,

That heart will break, and breaking, die!

FOOTNOTES

[17]In Turkish families the daughters are betrothed when quite young, and very often do not see their destined husbands.

[18]“Hookah,” the Turkish pipe.

[19]“Simoom.” I believe I have good authority for the orthography of this word, although it is oftener spelled “Simoon.”

[20]“Houdah.” A covered or open divan, placed on the back of the camel, and either rudely or luxuriously furnished.

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