Asked the River once so deep, What great grief, oh shining river, Dried your waters up forever? Said the River once so shining, I in sorrow deep am pining, Since I saw the wolf's despair, When he shed his shaggy hair, For the Palm tree he had seen, Shedding all his branches green, And he saw the glossy raven, Looking so forlorn and craven, As he dropped a downy feather, Like the snow in winter weather, He saw the brilliant bug weeping, And his sad watch keeping. Alas, Alas, Ah me! Over the Noble Flea! Then the Shepherd in sorrow deep, _Tore the horns from all his sheep_, Sadly bound them on his head, Since he heard the flea was dead. Then the Shepherd's mother dear, Asked him why in desert drear, He had torn in sorrow deep, All the horns from all his sheep, Sadly bound them on his head, Just as though a friend was dead? Said he, 'tis because the River, Dried his waters up forever, Since he saw the Wolf's despair, When he shed his shaggy hair. For the Palm tree he had seen, Shedding all his branches green, For he saw the glossy raven, Looking so forlorn and craven, As he dropped a downy feather, Like the snow in winter weather. He saw the brilliant bug weeping, And his sad watch keeping, Alas, Alas, Ah me! Over the Noble Flea! Mother sad began to cry, Thrust her needle in her eye; Could no longer see her thread, Since she heard the flea was dead. Then the Father grave and bland, Hearing this, _cut off his hand_; And the daughter, when she hears, In despair, _cuts off her ears_; And through the town deep grief is spread, Because they heard the flea was dead. THE NURSERY RHYMES OF THE ARABS. Who is that singing in such a sweet plaintive voice in the room beneath our porch? It is the Sit Leila, wife of Sheikh Abbas, saying a lullaby to her little baby boy, Sheikh Fereed. We will sit on the porch in this bright moonlight, and listen while she sings: Whoever loves you not, My little baby boy; May she be driven from her house, And never know a joy! May the "Ghuz" eat up her husband, And the mouse her oil destroy! This is not very sweet language for a gentle lady to use to a little infant boy, but the Druze and Moslem women use this kind of imprecation in many of their nursery songs. Katrina says that many of the Greek and Maronite women sing them too. This young woman Laia, who sits here, has repeated for me not less than a hundred and twenty of these nursery rhymes, songs for weddings, funeral wails, etc. Some of the imprecations are dreadful. They seem to think that the best way to show their love to their babies, is to hate those who do not love them. Im Faris says she has heard this one in Hasbeiya, her birthplace: