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THE TURKISH LADY.
'Twas the hour when rites unholy
Call'd each Paynim voice to prayer,
And the star that fadeth slowly
Left to dews the freshen'd air.
Day her sultry fires bad wasted,
Calm and sweet the moonlight rose :
Even a captive's spirit tasted
Half oblivion of his woes.
Then 'twas from an Emir's palace
Came an Eastern lady bright:
She, in spite of tyrants jealous,
Saw and lov'd an English knight.
Tell me, captive, why in anguish
Foes have dragg'd thee here to dwell,
Where poor Christians as they languish
Here no sound of Sabbath bell? —
'Twas on Transylvania's Bannat,
When the crescent shone afar,
