From his finger Shureef loosed an Ormuz pearl—
"By the Prophet," quoth he, "'tis a winsome girl!"
"Take this ring; and 'prithee, come and have thy pay,
I would hear at leisure more of such a lay."
Glared his eyes on her eyes, passing o'er the plain,
Glared at the tent-purdah—never glared again!
Never opened after unto gaze or glance,
Eyes that saw a Rajpoot dance a shameful dance;
For the kiss she gave him was his first and last—
Kiss of dagger, driven to his heart, and past.
At her feet he wallowed, choked with wicked blood;
In his breast the katar quivered where it stood.
At the hilt his fingers vainly—wildly—try,
Then they stiffen feeble;—die! thou slayer, die!
From his jewelled scabbard drew she Shureef's sword,
Cut a-twain the neck-bone of the Muslim lord.
Underneath the starlight,—sooth, a sight of dread!
Like the Goddess Kali, comes she with the head,
Comes to where her brothers guard their murdered chief;
All the camp is silent, but the night is brief.