When the old man saw it, Mustaph Aga, Loud he screamed with voice of troubled anger: “Look to this, ye bidden to the wedding! He, the robber! bears away my maiden: See her, see her borne away for ever.” But one answer met the old man’s wailings: “Let the hawk bear off the quail in safety,— Bear in safety—she was born to wed him; Thou, retire thee to thy own white dwelling! Blossoms not for thee so fair a maiden!”
To the baths the noble Turks are going; From the baths are coming Turkish ladies. Lo! before the Turks Prince Mujo marches; Mahmoud Pasha’s bride before the ladies. O how wond’rous fair is princely Mujo! Fairer yet the bride of Mahmoud Pasha! How magnificent their flowing dresses! There the Tzar’s son, princely Mujo sicken’d, Smitten by the bride of Mahmoud Pasha. Ill he wended to his own white dwelling, Threw him down upon his silken pillow. All the ladies to the Prince’s mother, All in order to the Tzaress crowded; All, except the bride of Mahmoud Pasha.
Then the Mother-tzaress thus address’d her: “Noble woman! bride of Mahmoud Pasha! Think’st thou then thyself of higher lineage? In death-sickness is my Mujo lying: All the ladies of the court have sought him: Thou, and thou alone, of all, art absent!”
When the bride of Mahmoud Pasha heard it, Soon she girt her raiments—in her sleevelets She prepared medicaments the choicest; Rosy-sweets, wrapp’d up in golden vestments; Yellow honey-comb in silver dishes, And spring-cherries all preserv’d in honey; Peaches with the earliest dew-drops gather’d; Figs of Ocean, and the grapes of Mostar: { 36a} These she hid beneath her richest garments, And she hasten’d to the Prince’s dwelling.
All unask’d and unobserved she enter’d: No salām { 36b} she gave—but hurried forward To the balcony, where, sick and sorrowing, Lay Prince Mujo:—at his head she fix’d her; With her gold-wrought kerchief from his forehead Lo! she wiped the hot, the feverish dew-drop, And thus spoke she to the Empress-mother:
“Such a sickness as has seized the hero, May it seize upon my only brother! May it seize me, bride of Mahmoud Pasha! ’Tis not sickness—it is love hath seized him!”
When the princely Mujo heard this language, From his slumb’ring bed he sprung swift-footed, Hurried to the chamber door and closed it. Three white days he kiss’d the bride unceasing; When the fourth day dawn’d, did Mahmoud Pasha Send a beautifully-written letter To the Tzar; and this the letter’s language: