The steaming odors, that so deep
In Mocha's priceless berry sleep.
Its fragrance now is on the air,
And straight the tiny cup they bear
To their tired lords, who glad lay by
Their pipes for this blest luxury.
The servants then their thirst assuage
With the same precious beverage.
This done, the savory meats they dress,
By Arabs of the wilderness
So prized. Meanwhile, from her employ
A negro girl young Fatmeh calls,
And bids her nurse the Christian boy.
Upon her knee Ayesha falls
Beside that form insensible,
And marks the troubled breathing well.
Then lifting from the torrid sand
The languid head, with gentle hand,
Gives to his lips the welcome draught,
Which but half consciously is quaffed.