I asked him to feed me.
He cried, enough said.

And an eagle black
With a beam on his back
Said from Egypt I come
And he cried clack, clack.

So you see the Arab boys are as fond of plays and songs as American
boys. They have scores of songs about gazelles, and pearls, and Sultans,
and Bedawin, and Ghouls, and the "Ghuz," and the Evil Eye, and Arab
mares and Pashas.

A few days ago a Druze, named Sheikh Ali, called upon me and recited to
me a strange song, which reminded me of the story of "Who killed Cock
Robin," and "The House that Jack built." In some of the Arab villages
where fleas abound, the people go at times to the tennûr or oven, (which
is like a great earthen jar sunken in the ground,) to shake off the
fleas into the fire. The story which I have translated goes thus: A
brilliant bug and a noble flea once went to the oven to shake off the
ignoble fleas from their garments into the fire. But alas, alas, the
noble flea lost his footing, fell into the fire and was consumed. Then
the brilliant bug began to weep and mourn, saying,

Alas! Ah me!
The Noble Flea!
While he was thus weeping,
And his sad watch keeping,
A glossy raven overhead,
Flew swiftly down and gently said,