Meryem, rather is she the gazelle, Bounding in the desert. The hunter covers her young; She sees the powder flash, Leaps forward to receive the ball, And dies to save its life. She appointed to meet me On Monday night. My heart beat, she came, All enveloped in silk, And threw herself into my arms. Meryem has no sister [no equal] In the four corners of the world! She is worth all Tunis and Algiers, Tlemcen and Mascara, Their shops, their shop-keepers, And their perfumed stuffs. She is worth the vessels That traverse the azure deep with their sails, Going in search of the riches Which Allah has created for us.[79] She is worth five hundred mares The fortune of a tribe, When they hasten to the fight Beneath their proud riders. She is worth five hundred she-camels Followed by their little ones, Besides a hundred negroes of the Soudan, Stolen by the Touarueg[80] To serve Mahommedans. She is worth all the wandering Arabs, Happy and independent, And those with fixed abodes, Unhappy victims Of the caprice of Sultans. Her head is adorned with pure silk, Whence escapes in flowing curls Her black hair perfumed with musk, Or with amber from Tunis; Her teeth, you would say they were pearls Set in the reddest coral, And her eyes, charged with blood, Wound like the arrows Of the savage inhabitants of Bernou.[81] Her saliva, I have tasted it, Is the sugar of dried grapes, Or the honey of bees In the flower of spring time. Her neck is the mast of a ship That ploughs the deep seas, With its white sails To float along with the wind. Her throat resembles the peach Which is seen ripening on the tree; Her shoulders are like polished ivory, And her rounded ribs Are the haughty sabres Drawn by the Djouad[82] When weary of using their fire-arms. How many valiant horsemen Have died for her in battle!