 | Safie |  |
And did he rave when life return'd?
And was all hope, all pity spurn'd?
And did he call on maiden lost?
And did he say a spectre crost
In Turkish turban stain'd with blood;
Or boast of wading gory flood?
Did voice speak madness loud and dire?
Did eye flash rage, revengeful fire?
Was bosom beat? Was garment rent?
Were curses mutter'd on the brand
That cleaved him from a Turkish hand?
Were savage imprecations sent
To those who let the foe escape?
Did he not court in every shape,
From hands of a vassal, from stab of a slave,
The comfort of death—the repose of the grave!
And was all hope, all pity spurn'd?
And did he call on maiden lost?
And did he say a spectre crost
In Turkish turban stain'd with blood;
Or boast of wading gory flood?
Did voice speak madness loud and dire?
Did eye flash rage, revengeful fire?
Was bosom beat? Was garment rent?
Were curses mutter'd on the brand
That cleaved him from a Turkish hand?
Were savage imprecations sent
23
Did he not court in every shape,
From hands of a vassal, from stab of a slave,
The comfort of death—the repose of the grave!
| Safie | |