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158

WOLFE OF THE KNOLL.

Slowly and reverently the men
Turn backward to their tents again.
The women linger still to mourn ;
"Moon of our darkness, Oh, return !
O fountain of our desert, why,
Why is thy spring thus early dry ?
O fair young palm, why didst thou fade,
When we were sporting 'neath thy shade ?
Why fall and crush us, cruel tree ?
Did we not love thee tenderly,
Lead the sweet water to thy root,
That thou above all palms mightst shoot ?
Thy mother why didst thou forsake,
And leave her wretched heart to break ?"

Awhile the Moolah stands aloof,
Then mildly speaks a grave reproof ;
"Ye women, trouble not the dead !
He hath not stood in Allah's stead
To fix the measure of his years !