One little stone that none would miss
From the bright band that clasps thy hair —
So many more are shining there —
Would lightly purchase all the bliss
Of home and freedom for the boy,
And fill his father's house with joy.
Thou canst not give it ? go thy way,
Tread fast the festive measure gay,
Yet oh ! look to thy soul, ere He,
The prisoner's friend, in anger says,
"What thou didst not for one of these
That didst thou also not for me !"
From the proud Christian maiden's frown,
To misbelieving Fatmeh turn,
Who, from the lattice of her bower,
Observes the captive at this hour
So woful sad. "Gerda," she cries,
With look and tone that speak surprise,
"Why doth the Christian slave still weep ?