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was the tale Sher Afzul told to me, While the spent camels bubbled on their knees, And ruddy camp-fires twinkled through the gloom Sweet with the fragrance from the Sinjib trees.

I had a friend who lay, condemned to death In gaol for murder, wholly innocent, Yet caught in webs of luckless circumstance;— Thou know'st how lies, of good and ill intent,

Cluster like flies around a justice-court, Wheel within wheel, revolving screw on screw;— But from his prison he escaped and fled, Keeping his liberty a night or two

Among the lonely hills, where, shackled still, He braved a village, seeking for a file To loose his irons; alas! he lost his life Through the base sweetness of a woman's smile.

Lovely she was, and young, who gave the youth Kind words, and promised succor and repose, Till on the quilt of false security He found exhausted sleep; but, ere he rose,

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