VIII.
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n silence bowed the virgin's head;And if her eye was filled with tears 220That stifled feeling dare not shed,And changed her cheek from pale to red,And red to pale, as through her earsThose winged words like arrows sped,What could such be but maiden fears?So bright the tear in Beauty's eye,Love half regrets to kiss it dry;So sweet the blush of Bashfulness,Even Pity scarce can wish it less! Whate'er it was the sire forgot: 230Or if remembered, marked it not;Thrice clapped his hands, and called his steed,[137]Resigned his gem-adorned chibouque,[138]And mounting featly for the mead,With Maugrabeel[139] and Mamaluke,His way amid his Delis took,[140]To witness many an active deedWith sabre keen, or blunt jerreed.The Kislar only and his Moors[141]Watch well the Haram's massy doors. 240
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