But if her mother can succeedIn gaining for her maxims heed,And softening the girl's heart too,So that she coyly shuns our view,--The heart of youth she knows but ill;
MOTHER AND SON.
The bard in each village is cheer'd.Thus lives he and wanders, while years onward glide,
In truth, I hope myself unstain'd,
"My friend the fox my pigeon must seeHe ran, and stretch'd 'mongst the bushes lay he"Look, fox, at my pigeon, my pigeon so fair!His equal I'm sure thou hast look'd upon ne'er!"
Wherewith her monster's raging thirst to slake;Then leaves me to myself, and flies at last,And I, unbound, yet prison'd fastBy magic, follow in her train,Seek for her, tremble, fly again.The hapless creature thus tormenteth she,
Rose to Allah's throne on high;
A thaw dissolved the ice so strong,--They proudly steer'd themselves along,When landed, squatted on the shore,And croak'd as loudly as before.
No further happiness I now could find:
Sweetest, here then stay,
While at work had slumber stolen o'er her;For her knitting and her needle found IResting in her folded bands so tender;And I placed myself beside her softly,And held counsel, whether I should wake her.
Soon lonely will remain;Each lives, each loves in joyous mood,