ONCE the mother of the princely Marko Thus address’d her son:—“Now, Marko, tell me Why hast thou so many a shrine erected? Is it for thy sins in lowly penance? Is it that thy wealth is overflowing?” Then the noble prince address’d his mother: “Now, by Heav’n, I’ll tell thee! Erst I travell’d, Aged mother! in the Moorish country: To the water-cisterns sped me early, To refresh my Sharaz:—round the cisterns Were a dozen Moorish men assembled: Through the Moors I fain would reach the water— Reach the water to refresh my Sharaz: But the dozen Moorish men opposed me, And we there began a bloody struggle— There my trusty club aloft I lifted: One of the black Moors with earth I levell’d: One I struck to earth,—eleven assail’d me: Two I struck to earth,—and ten attack’d me: Three I struck to earth,—and nine engaged me: Four I struck to earth,—and twice four smote me: Five I struck to earth, and strove with seven: Six I struck to earth, and faced as many: But the six o’erpower’d the weary Marko; And they bound my hands, and bore me swiftly, Bore me swiftly to the Moorish palace; And the monarch sent me to a prison. “Seven long years I dwelt within my dungeon: Nothing knew I of the summer’s dawning; Nothing knew I of returning winter; Nothing knew I, mother, but that snow-balls, Snow-balls oft were thrown into my prison— Thrown into my prison by the maidens: So I knew it was the winter season. Sometimes maidens flung me Basil-garlands, So I knew it was the dawn of summer. When the eighth year broke upon thy Marko, It was not my dungeon that distress’d me: ’Twas the sorrow of a Moorish maiden, And she was the Moorish monarch’s daughter. When the morn return’d, and when the ev’ning, To my dungeon-window came she greeting:— “Nay! thou shalt not perish in thy prison, Thou poor Marko! give me but thy promise That thou wilt espouse the Moorish maiden, When the maiden has unlock’d thy prison— When she has released thy faithful Sharaz. I will bring a heap of golden ducats: All the ducats thou canst wish for, Marko.” “When I heard her in my misery, mother! From my head I took my cap, and laid it On my knees,—and twice I swore upon it: ‘By my faith! I’ll never leave thee, maiden! By my faith! I never will betray thee! E’en the golden sun is sometimes treach’rous— Shines not out in winter as in summer— But my word, my faith, shall be unchanging!”