Enough, 'twas sad those Franks to see
Fettered before the Osmanli.
Shame and despair reigned in each face,
And left for pride but little place.
Yet Aali spake no word of scorn ;
His was a soul too nobly born
To mock the grief of that sad throng,
Though conscience charged him not with wrong.
Nor looked he there a tyrant fierce.
With breast that pity could not pierce.
Nor seemed more careless of distress
Than those who gentler faith profess.
A little girl upon his knee
Was leaning lovingly and free ;
Too tender yet her age to learn
Those lessons of submission stern.
And reverence, that the law requires.
Of Moslem children toward their sires ;
Nor veil nor lattice yet control
The freedom of her joyous soul.