The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1859-08-25
WASHINGTON, d. C.
For the National Fra
J { NJ S c H IDS c U P.
BY EDWARD SPENCER.

The caravan had halted at Bassora, and VIZ
sat in the courtyard of the old Khan, while tn,
kneeling camels rested themselves, and tn,
slaves went out into the market place to pur
chase us fresh provision-a roasted lamb, and
clarified butter, and warm bread, and lusciou,
ripe fruit. Waiting for these things, we sat OF
our carpets, leaning back against the soft silker
cushions, languidly slipping the black fragrant
coffee prepared by that pearl of mamlouks, Sc
lin ben Neameh, languidly sucking at the am
Der mouih-pieces that decked the fexile stem:
Of our largilhehs, languidly, and with a faint
sensuous appreciation, hearkening to the must
cal FLASHING of the fountain, the soothing hub
ble-bubble of our pipes, and the low soft breath
ing of those that slept l had turned over and
leaned on my elbow, dipping my fingers idly
into the clear crystal water, dreaming of soft
vague things that needed not thought to com
pass their meaning, but glided gently through
my mind as glided the blue smoke wreaths over
my lips Hermon was propped up against his
cushion, with haltclosed eyes, making a pre-
tence of reading La Mare au Diable," that
most delicious pastoral of Madame George
Sand while the poet, his soft, dreamy brown
eyes bent upon the marble squares of the pave
Inent, and his hands folded over his breast,
leaned forward in the trance Of rapt vision,
wherein fashingly mingled waving palm-trees,
lovely houris with eyes wantoning like the
gazelle's, golden courts, fountains ripping four
and-twenty tunes, and pouring musk scented
rose-water into basins of crystal and ruby, COB
lets of wine ripe as the bursting pomegranate,
purple as an Emir's blood, the plain of bulbuls
from the centre of rose-gardens, the dance of
tinklng feet, and damsels, like moons, pressing
near their soft cheeks and warm hearts to the
bosom of the signing beloved-till his eyes
flashed as those of his sires were wont to do i'm
battle, and his high brow glistened with the
dew of beautiful thought.
By the tender soul Of Nisami," burst in
HermOn at last, hinging his book at the turban
of hideous old eunuch who was nodding in
one corner" this won't do u" and he began
extracting the smoke from his pipe in sudden
puhs, like a high-pressure Ohio steamboat
+" Ny Western blood will stagnate here. Bows.
lets get up some excitement. Break into a
mosque, beat dervise, pull somebody's beard,
or rob somebody's harem."
The poet eyed him with a glance of mild
compassion, as we would one made restless
With the toothache.
Oh, my brother, murmured he, thou dost
most remind in thy movements of that accursed
Jew who reviled the prophet lisa ben Maria,
Whose name be blessed ~
Hermon stretched himself, yawned, and then.
seeming suddenly to be struck by an idea, he
sprang up, and slapped the poet upon the
shoulder
me E EPSphs S Say awake In the name of
his pipe again, oh, slave, give him some sher-
bet wherewith to moisten his lips. Now, oh
thou dreamer, proof of thy quality. Tell us
a story, full of Afrites and Marids, and damsels
shaped like the letter Aleef, with bosoms like
twin pomegranates, and rounded hips. Pro
ceed.'
One of the mamlouks tuned guitar, and
then chanted to las in his sad cultural tones
Ghazel of Hafz, trimming OF wine, and love,
and beauty, and spiced with a delicious under
tone of mysticism, whereupon the poet, Ringing
himself back upon the cushions, and, speaking
as one would to his mistress when she was
absent, thus began:
Divinely gifted, oh my brothers, was the
poet who said, He that lives and loves not hath
hot dipped cup even in the sea of knowledge,
and he that loves and suffers not knoweth but
half the bliss Of love. And singing these verses
did Lutf the daughter of Sheikh acoub, con-
sole herself and dilate her heart when she grew
sad
There are no steeds like the wind drinking
mares of the Benz Malouk of Araby the Biest,
nor ever was there virgin so lovely as Lutf,
Sheikh Yacoub's only daughter. She was as a
pure pearl among the pebbles Of the sea shore
the delight of the world, the ornament OF King
dOms, the crown of desire. None could com
pare with her in business OF stature, nor In per-
lection of form. Her bosom was nest Tor
sighs. her cheek was soft as the inner leai
Of a rose of Cashmere, her breath was sweeter
than musk, and the flash of her teeth would
cause the heart of desert devotee to futter
Her closed lips resembled the seal of Solomon
ben Daoud. upon both of whom be peace J
and her ewes were dsturbers of souls, wild as
the eve of the falcon of Tabor, tender as the
eve of the ringdove of Damascus. And hel
voice was softer than the sigh of the sleeping
infant. and when she smiled it was like the
coming of the full moon from behind cloud
As the poet hath said: When she looked a
me. her chances cleft my heart like SHARP
sword: and when she spoke, my soul KEEP
time like a lutte to the voice of the singer:
Now, Lutf fed with her own hand hel
fathers mare, Fatma, the pride of the Ben
Malouk the spurner Of the desert, the essence
of heetness, the outstripper of the swift Simoom
And Fatma knew Lutf well, and whinnied t
her, and laid her nose against the damsel'
cheek, in the fashion of a newly-wedded lover
But the heart of Lutf was contracted; sh,
sighed, and was not happy. Ask not why, oil
brothers of the FAR West, for even In your coli
land the maidens love, and sigh, and are no
happy. For Allah Whose name be praised
hath so ordained 1t, that the bitterness OF lovln
should 90 before the sweetness of love, like tn
drugs of Abu Manstlr, which distorted the mus
Giles Of the face, but refreshed the stomach eve
as sherbet refreshes the lips. Now, there Owe
with the tribe a young man OF the Atghan
Hassan, son Of CASH, than whom there wa
none more excellent for perfection OF form an
business of stature He was brave and rcl
and his cheeks were pink with health, and h
beard was softer than silk. But Hassan love
rather to chase the gazelle, and fling II
diereed, and drink the wind as he few over u
desert on his mare, than to hearken to u
words of women, or look towards them wht
they slyly lifted the veil. And his scorn mac
the damsels of the tribe very wretched, TOT WI
was there could compare with Hassan, the han
some Hassan? Not one.
"Come my beauty" murmured Lutf, a
early one morning, ere the sun had begun
fling his bright lances westward athwart u
yellow desert, she caressed the pride of BE
Malouk, and fed her with dates and barl
meal, and kissed the white star on her for
head:
Come, my beauty; come, my gazelle-ey'
charmer; take me upon thy back, and dan
with me along over the desert, for / wou
know-oh so much, my beauty, oh so niue
my dancing darlingi" And she kissed Il
mare again, and wept tears tbst dropped up,
the sand like pearls from AL Raschid's bear
VII h bod II