At last, the deathly weakness o'er,
She lifts her languid lids once more.
"Where is my father ? doth he wake ?"
"Aye, child and long, for thy dear sake."
"Then pray him, of his love, come near,
For I would speak what he should hear."
The pacha stood beside her bed,
The tears that manhood shames to shed
Pressed back, and, stooping calm and slow,
Kissed tenderly her ivory brow.
"Father, my feet have stood to-nigh,
Within the very gates of light !
Such grace hath Allah shown to me
That I am bold to sue to thee.
Then, for my mother's sake and mine —