“Alas! my heart for love of this young man
  Is void of life as is this date of pit.”

Then she heaved a sigh and her soul flew away.

Ahmed remained there as if in a dream until the shepherd came back.  “Your wife is dead,” he said to him, “and if you wish, I’ll give you her weight in gold and silver.”

But the shepherd answers:  “I, too, am the son of a sultan.  I have come to pay this woman a visit and desire to see her.  Calm yourself.  I will take neither your gold nor silver.  This is the road to follow; go, till you arrive at the castle where she is.”

Ahmed starts, and when he arrives at the castle, he stands up in his stirrups and throws the shadow of his spear upon the window.

Redah, addressing her negress, said to her:  “See now what casts that shadow.  Is it a cloud, or an Arab’s spear?”

The negress goes to see, comes back to her mistress, and says to her, “It is a horseman, such as I have never seen the like of before in all my life.”

“Return,” said Redah, “and ask him who he is.”  Redah goes to see, and says: 

  “O horseman, who dost come before our eyes,
  Why seekest thou thy death?  Tell me upon
  Thine honor true, what is thine origin?”

He answers: 

  “Oh, I am Ahmed el Hilalieu called.  Well known
  ’Mongst all the tribes of daughters of Hilal. 
  I bear in hand a spear that loves to kill,
  Who’er attacks me counts on flight and dies.”

She says to him: 

  “Thou’rt Ahmed el Hilalieu?  Never prowls
  A noble bird about the Zeriba;
  The generous falcon turns not near the nests,
  O madman!  Why take so much care
  About a tree that bears not any dates?”

He answers: 

  “I will demand of our great Lord of all
  To give us rain to cover all the land
  With pasturage and flowers.  And we shall eat
  Of every sort of fruit that grows on earth.”

Redah: 

  “We women are like silk.  And only those
  Who are true merchants know to handle us.”

Ahmed el Hilalieu then says: 

  “I’ve those worth more than thou amid the girls
  Of Hilal, clad in daintiest of silk
  Of richest dye, O Redah, O fifth rite.”

And, turning his horse’s head, he goes away.  But she recalls him: 

  “I am an orange, them the gardener;
  I am a palm and thou dost cut my fruit;
  I am a beast and thou dost slaughter me. 
  I am—­upon thine honor—­O gray steed,
  Turn back thy head.  For we are friends henceforth.”

She says to the negress, “Go open wide the door that he may come.”

The negress admits him, and ties up his horse.  On the third day he sees the negress laughing.

“Why do you laugh, negress?”

“You have not said your prayers for three days.”

POEMS OF THE MAGHREB