224
POEMS.
The fated day. A woman slave,
New in the palace, quickly gave,
Answering Choy's artful questioning,
The noble's name.
"Ah, go and bring
Me news of him," said Choy. "He bore
Himself so loftily, I more
Recall him than all else that day.
Seek out minutely in what way
He lives; what may his harem hold.
He seemed to me so silent, cold,
No doubt some Houri keeps him chained,"
With scornful laugh, but poorly feigned,
Cried Choy.
At dusk of night returned
The slave, with wondrous tale, which burned
Itself on Choy's glad heart.
The Duke,
Phaya Phi Chitt his name, forsook
His harem on the day he led
The Favorite's chariot ponies. Dead
He seemed to all he once had loved:
No fear, no joy, his spirit moved.
His friends believed that he was mad,
Or else some mortal illness had.
A feverish joy filled all Choy's thought,
She knew by what this change was wrought.
Love's keenest pain, if shared like this,
No longer seemed a pain, but bliss.
Again the faithful slave she sent,
With message of one word, which meant
But "I remember."
New in the palace, quickly gave,
Answering Choy's artful questioning,
The noble's name.
"Ah, go and bring
Me news of him," said Choy. "He bore
Himself so loftily, I more
Recall him than all else that day.
Seek out minutely in what way
He lives; what may his harem hold.
He seemed to me so silent, cold,
No doubt some Houri keeps him chained,"
With scornful laugh, but poorly feigned,
Cried Choy.
At dusk of night returned
The slave, with wondrous tale, which burned
Itself on Choy's glad heart.
The Duke,
Phaya Phi Chitt his name, forsook
His harem on the day he led
The Favorite's chariot ponies. Dead
He seemed to all he once had loved:
No fear, no joy, his spirit moved.
His friends believed that he was mad,
Or else some mortal illness had.
A feverish joy filled all Choy's thought,
She knew by what this change was wrought.
Love's keenest pain, if shared like this,
No longer seemed a pain, but bliss.
Again the faithful slave she sent,
With message of one word, which meant
But "I remember."
