His arms were folded on his dark-green vest,
His step was feeble, and his look deprest;
Yet worn he seem'd of hardship more than years,
And pale his cheek with penance, not from fears, 660
Vow'd to his God—his sable locks he wore,
And these his lofty cap rose proudly o'er:
Around his form his loose long robe was thrown,
And wrapt a breast bestow'd on heaven alone;
Submissive, yet with self-possession mann'd,
He calmly met the curious eyes that scann'd;
And question of his coming fain would seek,
Before the Pacha's will allowed to speak.
"Whence com'st thou, Dervise?"
"From the Outlaw's den, 670
"Thy capture where and when?"
"From Scalanova's port to Scio's isle.
"The Saick was bound; but Allah did not smile
"Upon our course—the Moslem merchant's gains
"The Rovers won; our limbs have worn their chains.