Page:ONCE A WEEK JUL TO DEC 1860.pdf/386

378 His servants, by the flickering glare, Perceived a woman with dishevell’d hair, And scanty clothing, seeking to conceal Her somewhat striking dishabille, Which in the darkness, by the torchlight aided, Seem’d greater than it in the day did.

The Sultan’s son his march suspended, And then approach’d her unattended, While she with arms and hands was trying Her want of clothing to replace, And left exposed, in beauty vying, Two legs and feet of matchless grace.

The Prince, instead of putting (as his duty Clearly enjoin’d) his hands before his face, With might and main stood staring at the beauty— “What loveliness is this I trace! And yet the time, spot, dress, are rather funny—” My lord!” she said in accents sweet as honey, I feel so awkward in this negligée, I really know not what to say!”

The Prince at once confess’d the force Of her remark, and then of course Gave her his own great coat at this suggestion, And said, “Fair lady, just one question! Pray, are you married? If you single are, Come home with me, and be the brightest star Within my harem! Be a prince’s bride, I love you more than all the world beside!”

Fair Fatima soon comprehended Th’ advantage of this offer splendid, And found her knowledge as a tailor In measuring its extent avail her. Alas! when this proposal made he, I grieve to say the naughty lady Forgot her duty and her plightcd troth, Forgot her husband and her oath. My lord! I’m single, and quite ready To offer you allegiance steady, And live but for Your Royal Highness!” A bargain!” he exclaim’d with slyness;— A horse is brought, and, lighted by the torches, Soon Fatima’s inside his harem’s porches.

Scarce had she gone, when Faristan comes back, Bringing the clothes she seem’d to lack. She is not there! His wonderment immense is: He shouted, search’d, and well-nigh lost his senses. She is some rohber’s prize,” then thought he, In this we scarce can contradict him; He little dreamt that she could be so naughty, As to have been a willing victim!

Why didn’t I escort her home at once, Dress’d as she was? Alas, poor silly dunce! In what distress my darling little wife Will be! She said that she should find her life So sad without me, that she needs must be Buried alive in the same grave with me. You phœnix of a woman! if a stranger Has dared to pester you with his advances, I’m sure that you’ll have saved yourself from danger, As any noble matron would,—the chance is That you have scratch’d your face, or torn your hair, Or even stabb’d yourself in your despair!”