Joy flashed from the bright black eyes of the young Greek page as he glided noiselessly over the thick carpet, but that emotion of pleasure was instantly changed to one of deep deference.
“Proceed,” said his master, “and sing me that plaintive song which is supposed to depict the woes of one of the unhappy sons of Greece.”
“But may not its sentiments offend your highness?” asked the page.
“It is but a song,” responded Ibrahim. “I give thee full permission to sing those verses, and I should be sorry were you to subdue aught of the impassioned feelings which they are well calculated to excite within thee.”
The page turned his handsome countenance up toward the grand vizier, and commenced in melodious, liquid tones, the following song—
SONG OF THE GREEK PAGE.
“Oh, are there not beings condemned from their birth,
To drag, without solace or hope o’er the earth,
The burden of grief and of sorrow?
Doomed wretches who know, while they tremblingly say,