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LIX HABEEBEH'S LOVE
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133

LIX HABEEBEH'S LOVE

(EDFU)

The mad old Shêkh with hungry eye
Has claimed Habeebeh for his own;
‘Three cows,’ said he, ‘the girl may buy,
And give her sire a broidered gown.’
The shêkh may make her body his—
Her body lithe and fresh and fair,
Habeebeh has a heart, and this
The shêkh, he cannot buy nor share.
For Mustapha, who mends the boats,
Has seen her to the river come,
Has watched her watering the goats,
And followed to her father's home.
And many a day, beside the Nile,
Has helped her hoist the water-jar,
Through toil and heat has thought the while
At sunset shines my evening star!

134

He was her giant, strong and kind,
She was to him his village dove,
But neither spake. He felt her mind,
And she—she only guessed his love.
But when the sugar-cane was sweet,
Forth from his breast a piece he drew,
Brake it, and gave her part to eat,
Kept part, and so his love she knew.
Thereafter, through the springing corn,
Or with the quails among the clover,
Habeebeh felt new hope was born,
And happier skies were bending over.
Thereafter, when the bean-fields bloom,
A sweeter fragrance filled the air,
More welcome was the star-lit gloom,
The sun shone every morn more fair.
Three cows and an embroidered gown!—
What father could resist the price?
A crier ran throughout the town,
They bruised the henna, boiled the rice.
Forth went the old shêkh's camel, gay
With cowrie trappings, plume and bell,
Habeebeh could no longer stay,—
She had no heart to say farewell.

135

And entering there by Edfu's gate,
Above her crimson bridal shawl
She saw her lover watch and wait,
She spake not, but her eyes spake all.
A whole year long she never smiled,
And then she knew a mother's joy;
But once in dream, she muttered, ‘Child,
Thou art mine own dear lover's boy.’
The old shêkh rose from off his mat,
He clutched the babe with hideous cry,
He cursed it, in her face he spat,
And said, ‘To-morrow thou shalt die!
‘Was it for this the torches burned,
For this the zikr filled the street,
For this, thou thrice-divorced and spurned
From home, we hired the zaghareet?’
To-morrow came, the town was moved,
The Kâdi called accusers four,
Habeebeh went, for him she loved
Condemned, toward the river shore.

136

They screamed from roof, they cast the dust,
Dogs barked, and women yelled their hate,
But she in Allah put her trust,
In Allah, the Compassionate.
And never proudlier stepped a bride
To bathe upon her wedding morn,
For Mustapha was at her side,
And death were easy to be borne.
They walked in silence, two but one,—
What life had joined could dying sever?
She hardly felt the chain and stone
To sink her from his sight for ever.
Then while the drawling-voiced Fikee
Pronounced the doom to endless hell,
Habeebeh turned one face to see,
And heard a murmur, ‘All is well.’
Yea, all is well—a wild shout rang,
Habeebeh sank before their eyes,
And Mustapha, the lover, sprang
To join his love in Paradise.
 

The frantic dance of the dervishes, often performed at weddings.

Shrill cries of joy made by women hired for the occasion.

The Judge. On such occasions the evidence of four distinct accusers was necessary to procure conviction.

The village schoolmaster and lay reader of the Koran.