And the maiden drank the dear delusion: She believed the oath that I had sworn her; And when ev’ning’s fall the earth had shaded, She flung ope the portals of my dungeon: From my prison-house she brought me, mother, Brought me to my proud and prancing Sharaz: For herself she brought a steed yet nobler: Both were loaded well with bags of ducats: And she brought my bright and faithful sabre. On our steeds we sprung, and swiftly sped us, In the darkness, from that Moorish country. “But at last the twilight dawn’d upon us, And I flung me on the ground to slumber: And the Moorish maiden laid her near me: And she threw her ebon arms around me: But, as daylight came, and I, O mother! Saw how black her face, her teeth how ivory, Such a fright, and such a shuddering seized me, That I drew the sabre from its scabbard, Plunged it deeply through her silken girdle; Through and through the bloody sabre smote her. “Then I sprung upon the back of Sharaz, And I heard the maiden’s lips address me: ‘Thou in God my brother! thou, O Marko! Leave me not!—thus wretched do not leave me!” “Therefore, mother! do I lowly penance: Thus, my mother! have I gold o’erflowing: Therefore seek I righteous deeds unceasing.” MARKO AND THE TURKS. VISIR Amurath is gone a-hunting; Hunting in the leafy mountain-forest: With him hunt twelve warriors, Turkish heroes: With the heroes hunts the noble Marko: White days three they hunted in the mountain; Nothing found they in the mountain-forest. But, behold! while in the forest hunting, They a lake, a green-faced lake, discover, Where a flock of gold-winged ducks are swimming. There the proud Visir lets loose his falcon, Bids him pounce upon a gold-wing’d swimmer; But the falcon turned his glances upwards, And he mounted to the clouds of heaven. To the proud Visir said princely Marko: “Visir Amurath! is it allowed me To let loose my own, my favourite falcon? He a gold-wing’d duck shall doubtless bring thee.” And the Moslem swiftly answer’d Marko: “’Tis allow’d thee, Marko! I allow thee.” Then the princely Marko loosed his falcon; To the clouds of heaven aloft he mounted; Then he sprung upon the gold-wing’d swimmer— Seized him—rose—and down they fell together. When the bird of Amurath sees the struggle, He becomes indignant with vexation: ’T was of old his custom to play falsely— For himself alone to gripe his booty: So he pounces down on Marko’s falcon, To deprive him of his well-earn’d trophy, But the bird was valiant as his master; Marko’s falcon has the mind of Marko: And his gold-wing’d prey he will not yield him. Sharply turns he round on Amurath’s falcon, And he tears away his proudest feathers.