LITMIR.BIZ

           We're bearing fivescore Christian dogs

             To serve the cruel drivers:

           Some are fair beauties gently born,

             And some rough coral-divers.

           We hardy skimmers of the sea

             Are lucky in each sally,

           And, eighty strong, we send along

             The dreaded Pirate Galley.

           A nunnery was spied ashore,

             We lowered away the cutter,

           And, landing, seized the youngest nun

             Ere she a cry could utter;

           Beside the creek, deaf to our oars,

             She slumbered in green alley,

           As, eighty strong, we sent along

             The dreaded Pirate Galley.

           "Be silent, darling, you must come —

             The wind is off shore blowing;

           You only change your prison dull

             For one that's splendid, glowing!

           His Highness doats on milky cheeks,

             So do not make us dally" —

           We, eighty strong, who send along

             The dreaded Pirate Galley.

           She sought to flee back to her cell,

             And called us each a devil!

           We dare do aught becomes Old Scratch,

             But like a treatment civil,

           So, spite of buffet, prayers, and calls —

             Too late her friends to rally —

           We, eighty strong, bore her along

             Unto the Pirate Galley.

           The fairer for her tears profuse,

             As dews refresh the flower,

           She is well worth three purses full,

             And will adorn the bower —

           For vain her vow to pine and die

             Thus torn from her dear valley:

           She reigns, and we still row along

             The dreaded Pirate Galley.

           Oh! were I not a captive,

             I should love this fair countree;

           Those fields with maize abounding,

             This ever-plaintive sea:

           I'd love those stars unnumbered,

             If, passing in the shade,

           Beneath our walls I saw not

             The spahi's sparkling blade.

           I am no Tartar maiden

             That a blackamoor of price

           Should tune my lute and hold to me

             My glass of sherbet-ice.

           Far from these haunts of vices,

             In my dear countree, we

           With sweethearts in the even

             May chat and wander free.

           But still I love this climate,

             Where never wintry breeze

           Invades, with chilly murmur,

             These open lattices;

           Where rain is warm in summer,

             And the insect glossy green,

           Most like a living emerald,

             Shines 'mid the leafy screen.

           With her chapelles fair Smyrna —

             A gay princess is she!

           Still, at her summons, round her

             Unfading spring ye see.

           And, as in beauteous vases,

             Bright groups of flowers repose,

           So, in her gulfs are lying

             Her archipelagoes.

           I love these tall red turrets;

             These standards brave unrolled;

           And, like an infant's playthings,

             These houses decked with gold.

           I love forsooth these reveries,

             Though sandstorms make me pant,

           Voluptuously swaying

             Upon an elephant.

           Here in this fairy palace,

             Full of such melodies,

           Methinks I hear deep murmurs

             That in the deserts rise;

           Soft mingling with the music

             The Genii's voices pour,

           Amid the air, unceasing,

             Around us evermore.

           I love the burning odors

             This glowing region gives;

           And, round each gilded lattice,

             The trembling, wreathing leaves;

           And, 'neath the bending palm-tree,

             The gayly gushing spring;

           And on the snow-white minaret,

             The stork with snowier wing.

           I love on mossy couch to sing

             A Spanish roundelay,

           And see my sweet companions

Скачать книгу