Page:Cheskian Anthology.pdf/142

 " daughter, I have cause to groan,

When misery on my heart is pil'd;

A turk demands thee for his own—

He asks thy father for his child."

" golden father! give me not—

O, if thou love me—do not so!

I will not leave thy watchman's cot—

Nay! with the turk I dare not go.

" thee what I'll do—I'll make

A coffin, where I will be laid,

And there my seeming rest I'll take,

And thou shalt say—The maid is dead."

so she did—the moslem o'er

The threshold sprung—"Ill-fated maid!

O God of mercy and of power!

The maid is dead! the maid is dead."

mourning turk his 'kerchief drew,

And wip'd his wet; and weeging eyes:

And hast thou left me—left me too—

My precious pearl—my gemlike prize?"