"Son of a slave"--the Pacha said-- "From unbelieving mother bred, Vain were a father's hope to see Aught that beseems a man in thee. Thou, when thine arm should bend the bow, And hurl the dart, and curb the steed, Thou, Greek in soul if not in creed, Must pore where babbling waters flow,[fe] And watch unfolding roses blow. Would that yon Orb, whose matin glow 90 Thy listless eyes so much admire, Would lend thee something of his fire! Thou, who woulds't see this battlement By Christian cannon piecemeal rent; Nay, tamely view old Stambol's wall Before the dogs of Moscow fall, Nor strike one stroke for life and death Against the curs of Nazareth! Go--let thy less than woman's hand Assume the distaff--not the brand. 100 But, Haroun!--to my daughter speed: And hark--of thine own head take heed-- If thus Zuleika oft takes wing-- Thou see'st yon bow--it hath a string!" V. No sound from Selim's lip was heard, At least that met old Giaffir's ear, But every frown and every word Pierced keener than a Christian's sword. "Son of a slave!--reproached with fear! Those gibes had cost another dear. 110 Son of a slave!--and _who_ my Sire?" Thus held his thoughts their dark career; And glances ev'n of more than ire[ff] Flash forth, then faintly disappear. Old Giaffir gazed upon his son And started; for within his eye He read how much his wrath had done; He saw rebellion there begun: "Come hither, boy--what, no reply? I mark thee--and I know thee too; 120 But there be deeds thou dar'st not do: But if thy beard had manlier length, And if thy hand had skill and strength, I'd joy to see thee break a lance, Albeit against my own perchance." As sneeringly these accents fell, On Selim's eye he fiercely gazed: That eye returned him glance for glance, And proudly to his Sire's was raised[fg], Till Giaffir's quailed and shrunk askance-- 130 And why--he felt, but durst not tell. "Much I misdoubt this wayward boy Will one day work me more annoy: I never loved him from his birth, And--but his arm is little worth, And scarcely in the chase could cope With timid fawn or antelope, Far less would venture into strife Where man contends for fame and life-- I would not trust that look or tone: 140 No--nor the blood so near my own.[fh] That blood--he hath not heard--no more-- I'll watch him closer than before. He is an Arab[131] to my sight, Or Christian crouching in the fight--[fi] But hark!--I hear Zuleika's voice; Like Houris' hymn it meets mine ear: She is the offspring of my choice;