The Beginning of the Story - Page 10 of 25

145   Lest startlement, too sudden borne,
Should snap the breath already worn.
Let pace assuage the youth forlorn
Upon his lap, O sight to mourn!

146   Then this awoke, with startled pain.
Who...? But I am in hands profane!
Though wholly limp, yet would he fain
Tear off – and chafed to find it vain.

147   The swordsman spoke: Be not afraid.
Console your breast, and peace persuade,
No pain shall hence your life invade:
Whose lap you lie on pledges aid.

148   If on my lap, most loath art thou,
Noxious the creed that avow,
I feel it mean to disallow
All help to thee, ill fated now...

149   A Persian I, I recognize
You are Albanian, from your guise –
In faith, my foe; in race, likewise;
But common fate weaves friendly ties.

150   This breast may be a Moor's indeed,
But subject still to Heaven's creed;
And in my heart, its law I read:
Commiserate with those in need.

151   What choice was mine, the ears relaying
Your plaints and pleas, my pity swaying?
And then the sight, your form conveying,
With brutes beside, intent on slaying?

152   That on the lap, despairing sighed
And to his comforter replied:
Had I been left with my hands tied,
Devoured by lions, I had died;

153   Then had my breast attained to peace.
You prove the worst of enemies,
Denying respite and surcease
To my breath, death and agonies.

154   Tis not this pity that you deign.
But boon of death, I long to gain.
You cannot know this gripping pain;
Death is the life I would attain.

155   The Muslim's tears began to well
At all that other had to tell;
So deeply touched was he, he fell
Limp, overwhelmed in pity's spell.

156   So that the pair was hushed; nor did
Each heart its sympathies forbid.
They seemed in trance, till Phoebus slid
Deep under golden folds nigh hid.

157   The humane swordsman, feeling sense
Of forest-light grown less intense
Stood up; and tracing trails to whence
He came, he took the other thence.

158   There, where the warrior had abode
When first into the woods he strode,
Upon a rock all clean and broad,
He laid his poor prostrated load.

159   He picked a fruit for their repast
And coaxed the youth to break his fast,
This first declining; but at last,
With soothing words, his scruples passed.

160   His breathing flowed the freer, eased
With pangs of hunger part-appeased,
And though he willed it not the least
Whereon he lay, was slumber-seized.