"Thee alone on earth have I loved. My longing heart is drawn to thee. And, though this earth were heaven, and it contained my Lubna not, I'd wander rather through the gates of hell if I but knew my Lubna there!""If I but knew my Lubna there!" repeated Osman Bey, in low, tremulous tones.--"You wish to know when I first heard this song? Iwill tell you. It was on the evening of a bloody day of battle; Ihad ridden at the side of our great chieftain, Mourad Bey. He called me his friend, his--""His favorite," said Sitta Nefysseh, interrupting him. "He said he loved you like a brother, and would confide to you without fear or hesitation all he loved best--his wife, his child--knowing that they would be guarded and held sacred as though they were in the holiest niche of the mosque. Yes, my noble husband loved you. And now, speak on. You had gone out to battle.""Yes, it was a bloody day. The angel of death hovered over us, and the swords of the enemy swept heavily upon our ranks. A sabre-stroke dealt by Bashi Seref fell upon the sword-arm of my noble friend, striking him down and disabling him. The Turk was preparing to deal a second blow, when I struck him to the earth with my ataghan. Ithen bore my friend from the conflict to his tent, and there you were, Sitta Nefysseh. You received the hero from my arms, and for the first time I saw your unveiled countenance. I then returned to the battle, and took Mourad's place at the head of his Mamelukes.
Whether it was anger over the wounding of my friend, or the bliss caused by the lovely image I had beheld, I know not, but my arm was strong and mighty, and love and heroism exulted in my heart. Icalled out to the Mamelukes, `We must and will die or conquer!' But, being still too young to die, and loving life too well, we conquered. The enemy was driven from the field, and ours was the victory. We encamped on the field after the bloody conflict; and then, having won the victory, I felt privileged, when evening came, to repair to Mourad's tent to report our success.
"No one was there to announce me; I drew back the curtain and entered the first room. No one was there, and the curtain of the inner apartment of the tent was half drawn aside. I went no farther, knowing that the wounded Mourad lay there on his cushions, and that Sitta Nefysseh was with him. I knew this because I heard her singing; she sang her beloved to sleep as a mother lulls her babe to rest, or as the houris sing in paradise, when they in wondrous melody announce the joys of heaven to dying mortals.
"I remained standing in the tent and listened to your song, Sitta Nefysseh. You sang to your husband of love and happiness--sang in sweet words what Djumeil says to his Lubna: `Nature breathes love.
The bird in the air sings of love; the spring which bubbles at your feet murmurs of love; the rose that blossoms in the garden sheds love's fragrance--all is love and bliss. Woe to them who know nothing more of love, woe to them who bear a cold heart in their bosom.' This you sang, Sitta Nefysseh, and I stood listening, entranced. What I then felt was so all-absorbing, so divinely beautiful, that I was unwilling to have the harmony of that sweet moment broken in upon by the voice of man. I silently withdrew; your song informed me that Mourad slept and was in heavenly bliss. Inoiselessly left the tent, and stepped out into the night. The moon shed its soft light around, enveloping the white tents scattered over the plain and the terrors of the day in a heavenly, silver veil.
