At the dwelling of the lovely maiden, Three white days the bridal crowd had linger’d,— When the fourth day dawn’d, at early morning, Forth they led the maiden from her dwelling; And ere yet far off they had proceeded, Ere they reach’d the flat and open country, Turn’d the lovely maiden to the leader, And into his ear these words she whisper’d: “Tell me now, my golden ring, my brother! {32} Who is chosen for the maiden’s bridegroom?” Softly did the marriage-leader answer: “Sweetest sister! fairest maid, Ajkuna! Look to right, and look to left, about thee; Dost thou see that old man in the distance, Who like an effendi sits so proudly In the farthest palanquin of scarlet, Whose white beard o’ercovers all his bosom? Lo! it is the aged Mustaph Aga; He it is who’s chosen for thy bridegroom.” And the maiden look’d around the circle And within her sad heart sighing deeply, Once again she ask’d the marriage-leader: “Who is he upon that white horse seated, He who bears so high aloft the banner, On whose chin that sable beard is growing?” And the leader answers thus the maiden: “He’s the hero Suko of Urbinia; He who for thee with thy brother struggled,— Struggled well indeed, but could not win thee.” When the lovely maiden heard the leader, On the black, black earth, anon she fainted: All to raise her, hastening, gather round her, And the last of all came Mustaph Aga; None could lift her from the ground, till Suko Sticks into the earth his waving banner, Stretches out his right hand to the maiden. See her, see her! from the ground upspringing, Swift she vaults upon his steed behind him; Rapidly he guides the courser onwards, Swift they speed across the open desert, Swift as ever star across the heavens. When the old man saw it, Mustaph Aga, Loud he screamed with voice of troubled anger: “Look to this, ye bidden to the wedding! He, the robber! bears away my maiden: See her, see her borne away for ever.” But one answer met the old man’s wailings: “Let the hawk bear off the quail in safety,— Bear in safety—she was born to wed him; Thou, retire thee to thy own white dwelling! Blossoms not for thee so fair a maiden!” ILLNESS OF PRINCE MUJO. To the baths the noble Turks are going; From the baths are coming Turkish ladies. Lo! before the Turks Prince Mujo marches; Mahmoud Pasha’s bride before the ladies. O how wond’rous fair is princely Mujo! Fairer yet the bride of Mahmoud Pasha! How magnificent their flowing dresses! There the Tzar’s son, princely Mujo sicken’d, Smitten by the bride of Mahmoud Pasha. Ill he wended to his own white dwelling, Threw him down upon his silken pillow. All the ladies to the Prince’s mother, All in order to the Tzaress crowded; All, except the bride of Mahmoud Pasha.