What is that yonder shimmering so? Can it be swans? Can it be snow? If it were swans they would move, I trow, If it were snow it had melted ere now. No: it is Ibrahim Aga’s tent-- There lies the warrior, wounded and spent. Mother and sisters tend him there Night and morn with busiest care; His wife alone--through shame or grief-- Stays away from the suffering Chief. Wherefore, as soon as his illness was gone, Wrote he thus to the Sensitive One-- “Go thy way from my house and hearth, And bide with the mother that gave thee birth.” Sad was Ayoob at the sudden word! It pierced her tender heart like a sword. Hark! the sound of a charger’s tramp-- Ibrahim, then, is come from the camp! So she fancies, and, in her despair, Thinks she will scale the turret-stair, And dash herself down from the castle-wall, When, lo! her two little daughters call-- “It isn’t our father, mother dear! This is our uncle, Djaffar-al-Meer.” Turning around, the weeping mother Flings her arms about her brother-- “Oh, brother! that this black day should arrive! Oh, how can I leave these helpless five?” But, cold and wordless, as one who has yet To study Compassion, or feel Remorse, The brother draws forth, all shiningly set In silk and gold, the Brief of Divorce, And sternly he states the Law’s command-- That again she return to her kindred and land, Free once more to dispose of her hand. The mother’s heart felt breaking, for now All hope was buried;--she could not speak-- She kissed her two little boys on the brow, And her two little girls she kissed on the cheek, While the babe in the cradle--unconscious child!-- Held out its diminutive arms, and smiled! The iron Djaffar would wait no more-- His barb was pawing the earth at the door: “Up, woman!” he cried--and they galloped away, And reached their home by the close of day. But there not long she pined alone, For, barely a week was over and gone When many a suitor came to sue; Kapitans, Beys, and Agas too, Came to see her and staid to woo. And Djaffar saw that the richest of all Was the noble Khadi of Nourjahaul. Afresh for sorrow were hourly shed The bitter tears of the mourner then: “I pray thee, brother,” she sadly said, “Give me not in marriage agen! My broken heart would cease to beat Should I and the children chance to meet.” But Djaffar was ever the Man of Steel-- The morrow, he vowed, should see her a wife! “Then, hear me, brother!--thy sister’s life Hangs upon this her last appeal! Write to the Khadi thus, I entreat-- ‘Health from Ayoob to her lordly lover! Send, she prays thee, a veil to cover Her sorrowful figure from head to feet, Lest, while passing the Aga’s door, Her children greet her as heretofore.’”