CHESKIAN ANTHOLOGY by THOMAS HOOD

UPON the Turkish boundary
A watchman hath one child alone:
"Oh God! oh God! what bliss'twould be,
If I could call that girl mine own!"

I sent a letter to the maid,
And sent a ring -- "The ring is thine,
So give me, sweet, thy love," I said,
"And leave thy father's house for mine."

The letter reach'd the maid -- she ran
And placed it in her father's hand:
"Read, oh, my father! if thou can,
And make thy daughter understand."

Her father read it, -- not a word
He said, but sigh'd -- and as he rose --
Oh Lord of Mercy! righteous Lord!
What heavy, heavy sighs were those?

"My golden father! tell me why
Such sighs, such sadness -- never pain
Heaved from the breast a heavier sigh --
What did that wretched sheet contain?"

"Sweet daughter! I have cause to groan,
When misery on my heart is piled:
A Turk demands thee for his own --
He asks thy father for his child."

"My golden father! give me not --
Oh, if thou love me, do not so!
I will not leave thy watchman's cot, --
Nay! with the Turk I dare not go!

"I'll tell thee what I'll do -- I'll make
A coffin, where I will be laid,
And there my seeming rest I'll take,
And thou shalt say -- the maid is dead!"

And so she did -- the Moslem o'er
The threshold sprung: "Ill-fated maid!
Oh God of Mercy and of Power!
The maid is dead, -- the maid is dead!"

The mourning Turk his kerchief drew,
And wiped his wet and weeping eyes:
"And hast thou left me -- left me too,
My precious pearl! -- my gem-like prize?"

He bought himself a mourning dress,
A dress of rosy taffety;
"Why hast thou left me in distress,
Of flowers the sweetest flower to me?"

He bid the death-bells loudly toll
From every Turkish mosque; and ye
Might hear the heavy grave-song roll
From Turkey even to Moldawy.

The Turk sped homeward; and the maid
Her coffin left for purer air.
"Now, God be with thee, Turk!" she said;
And truth was in the maiden's prayer."

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