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The Women of the Arabs by Henry Harris Jessup
page 283 of 342 (82%)
Soldiers from Damascus city,
Drag her off and shew no pity!
Nor release her for a day,
Though a thousand pounds she pay!

That is about enough of imprecations, and it will be pleasanter to
listen to Katrina, for she will sing us some of the sweetest of the
Syrian Nursery Songs.

Sleep, my moon, my baby sleep!
The Pleiades bright their watches keep.
The Libra shines so fair and clear,
The stars are shining, hush my dear!

There is not much music in the tunes they sing to these words. The airs
generally are plaintive and monotonous, and have a sad and weary sound.

Here is another:

My boy, my moon, I bid you good morrow!
Who wishes you peace shall know no sorrow!
Whom you salute, his earth is like heaven,
His care relieved, his sin forgiven!

She says that last line is extravagant, and I think as much. The next
one is a Moslem lullaby.

O Lord of the heavens, Knowing and Wise,
Preserve my Ali, the light of my eyes!
Lord of high heaven, Compassionate!
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