And still more nearly to the place advancing, Descending rather quickly the declivity, Through the waved branches o'er the greensward glancing, 'Midst other indications of festivity, Seeing a troop of his domestics dancing Like Dervises, who turn as on a pivot, he Perceived it was the Pyrrhic dance[178] so martial, To which the Levantines are very partial. XXX. And further on a troop of Grecian girls,[179] The first and tallest her white kerchief waving, Were strung together like a row of pearls, Linked hand in hand, and dancing; each too having Down her white neck long floating auburn curls-- (The least of which would set ten poets raving);[cm] Their leader sang--and bounded to her song With choral step and voice the virgin throng. XXXI. And here, assembled cross-legged round their trays, Small social parties just begun to dine; Pilaus and meats of all sorts met the gaze, And flasks of Samian and of Chian wine, And sherbet cooling in the porous vase; Above them their dessert grew on its vine;-- The orange and pomegranate nodding o'er, Dropped in their laps, scarce plucked, their mellow store. XXXII. A band of children, round a snow-white ram,[180] There wreathe his venerable horns with flowers; While peaceful as if still an unweaned lamb, The patriarch of the flock all gently cowers His sober head, majestically tame, Or eats from out the palm, or playful lowers His brow, as if in act to butt, and then Yielding to their small hands, draws back again. XXXIII. Their classical profiles, and glittering dresses, Their large black eyes, and soft seraphic cheeks, Crimson as cleft pomegranates, their long tresses, The gesture which enchants, the eye that speaks, The innocence which happy childhood blesses, Made quite a picture of these little Greeks; So that the philosophical beholder Sighed for their sakes--that they should e'er grow older. XXXIV. Afar, a dwarf buffoon stood telling tales To a sedate grey circle of old smokers, Of secret treasures found in hidden vales, Of wonderful replies from Arab jokers, Of charms to make good gold and cure bad ails, Of rocks bewitched that open to the knockers, Of magic ladies who, by one sole act, Transformed their lords to beasts (but that's a fact). XXXV. Here was no lack of innocent diversion For the imagination or the senses, Song, dance, wine, music, stories from the Persian, All pretty pastimes in which no offence is; But Lambro saw all these things with aversion, Perceiving in his absence such expenses, Dreading that climax of all human ills, The inflammation of his weekly bills.