And the panniers upon them swelled full of stuffs and ore!
The square buzzed and jostled at a sight so mad.
They bawled in their beards, and their turbans they wried. |And their
Boast,|
They stopped by the stalls with curvetting and clatter.
As bronze as the bracken their necks and faces dyed—
And a stave they sat singing, to tell us of the matter.
“For your silks, to Sugarmago! For your dyes, to Isfahan! |With its
Burthen|
Weird fruits from the Isle o’ Lamaree.
But for magic merchandise,
For treasure-trove and spice,