I take up now my song.  We made but one
  Encampment, at Oned Itel.  ’Twas there
  My friend, the queen of damsels, said farewell. 
  ’Twas in the night she paid the debt of death. 
  ’Twas there my dark-eyed beauty passed away. 
  She pressed her heart to mine and, sighing, died. 
  My cheeks were flooded with a sea of tears. 
  I thought to lose my reason.  I went forth
  And wandered through the fields, ravines, and hills. 
  She bore my soul away, my black-eyed love. 
  The daughter of a noble race.  Alas! 
  She still increased the burnings of my heart.

  They wrapped her in a shroud, my noble love. 
  The fever took me, burning up my brain. 
  They placed her on a bier, all decked with gems. 
  And I was in a stupor, dull to see
  All that was passing on that dreadful day. 
  They bore my beauty in a palanquin—­
  Her pretty palanquin—­this lovely girl,
  Cause of my sorrows, tall as a straight staff. 
  Her litter is adorned with odd designs,
  Shining as brilliant as the morning-star,
  And like the rainbow glowing ’midst the clouds,
  All hung with silk and figured damask-cloth. 
  And I, like any child, was in despair,
  Mourning Hyzyya.  Oh, what pangs I felt
  For her whose profile was so pure!  She nevermore
  Will reappear upon this earth again. 
  She died the death of martyrs, my sweet love,
  My fair’st one, with Koheul-tinted lids!

  They took her to a country that is called
  Sydy Kaled, and buried her at night,
  My tattooed beauty.  And her lovely eyes,
  Like a gazelle’s, have never left my sight. 
  O sexton, care now for my sweet gazelle,
  And let no stones fall on Hyzyya’s grave. 
  I do adjure thee by the Holy Book
  And by the letters which make up the name
  Of God, the Giver of all good, let no
  Earth fall upon the dame with mirror decked.

  Were it to claim her from a rival’s arms
  I would attack three troops of warriors. 
  I’d take her from a hostile tribe by force. 
  Could I but swear by her dear head, my love,
  My black-eyed beauty—­I would never count
  My enemies, ’though they a hundred were. 
  Were she unto the strongest to belong
  I swear she never would be swept from me.

  In the sweet name Hyzyya I’d attack
  And fight with cavaliers innumerable. 
  Were she to be the spoil of conqueror,
  You’d hear abroad the tale of my exploits. 
  I’d take her by main strength from all who vied. 
  Were she the meed of furious encounters
  I’d fight for years for her, and win at last! 
  For I am brave.  But since it is the will
  Of God, the mighty and compassionate,
  I cannot ward away from me this blow. 
  I’ll wait in patience for the happy day
  When I shall join thee.  For I only think
  Of thee, my dearest love, of thee alone!