XLIV.
But Selim hears not. On his brow
The damps of death are gath’ring now;
And, though no sound is plainly heard,
His lips pronounce some cherish’d word;
For while he goes through death’s lone shade,
His thoughts are with his dark eyed maid.
XLV.
And she, within her splendid home,
Will wonder why he does not come;