Celui qui d'une femme aime les entretiens; Celui qui ne sait pas dire dans une orgie Quelle est d'un beau cheval la généalogie; Qui cherche ailleurs qu'en soi force, amis et soutiens, Sur de soyeux divans se couche avec mollesse, Craint le soleil, sait lire, et par scrupule laisse Tout le vin de Chypre aux chrétiens; Ma dague d'un sang noir à mon côté ruisselle, Et ma hache est pendue à l'arçon de ma selle. Celui-là, c'est un lâche, et non pas un guerrier. Ce n'est pas lui qu'on voit dans la bataille ardente Pousser un fier cheval, à la housse pendante, La sabre en main, debout sur le large étrier; Il n'est bon qu'à presser des talons une mule, En murmurant tout bas quelque vaine formule, Comme un prêtre qui va prier! Ma dague d'un sang noir à mon côté ruisselle, Et ma hache est pendue à l'arçon de ma selle." There is nothing Greek in this, nor yet any European satire of Turkish barbarity; the poet has become the dramatist within the Turkish intellectual and emotional pale; in this local colouring there is the genuine brutality which no northern poet has ever attained in handling such themes. This is true masculine savagery. These are not sentimental, but robust major chords; and the major key predominates in all the poems, even where woman and love entwine their rhythms among the harsh, masculine ones. There are cruel, heartless women, like the Jewish sultana who demands the heads of her rivals; and there are refined, musical daughters of Eve, like the captive who longs for her own country and yet loves the sight of Smyrna's fairy palaces, and rejoices in breathing the soft air of the East in winter and in summer, by day and at night when the full moon shines upon the sea. There is the charming woman depicted in "Les adieux de l'hôtesse Arabe." The love which finds expression in this last-named poem is sad in its feeling of unrequitedness, repressed and chaste; it is a mixture of sisterly care, childlike superstition, and submissive worship, which reveals itself with plastic grace in a noble, proud character. From the moment when the poet deserts the Greek camp for that of the enemy, his imagination allows itself free play. From pictures of Turkish cruelty it passes to the delineation of Turkish superstition. "Les Djinns" is a metrical marvel in which the approach of the wild hunt to the house, its thundering over the heads of the terror-stricken inmates, and its gradual dying away into the distance, are represented by the gradual rise from two-syllabic to ten-syllabic lines and gradual fall back to the two-syllabic. From the life of the Turkish seraglio it wings its flight to the tents of the Bedouins in the desert; from the desert as it is to-day to the desert as it was in the days when Buonaberdi overshadowed it with the wings of his eagles.