'Neath Nefta's palms they slowly walked —
The foster-mother and her child —
And earnestly together talked,
While ruddy morning round them smiled.
"The Christian Melleff," said the maid,
"We miss from haunts where late he stray
The roses on the outer wall,
That were his charge to train and dress,
Upon the earth neglected fall —
The garden grows a wilderness.
Hath sickness smitten ? — or thy hands −
O Gerda ! have they loosed his bands ? "