CANTO THE FIRST IX |
|
CANTO THE FIRSTIX
His head was leant upon his hand,
His eye look`d o`er the dark blue water
That swiftly glides and gently swells
Between the winding Dardanelles;
But yet he saw nor sea nor strand,
Nor even his Pacha`s turban`d band
Mix in the game of mimic slaughter,
Careering cleave the folded felt
With sabre stroke right sharply dealt;
Nor mark`d the javelin-darting crowd,
Nor heard their Ollahs wild and loud —
He thought but of old Giaffir`s daughter!
|
