At last, when through her spent and quivering frame
The sharp throes ran, our hundred tents arose,
And with a neigh, whose shrill excess of joy
O’ercame its agony, she stopped and fell.
The Shammar men came round her as she lay,
And Sofuk raised her head and held it close
Against his breast. Her dull and glazing eye
Met his, and with a shuddering gasp she died.
Then like a child his bursting grief made way
In passionate tears, and with him all the tribe