The first time by my father's board!
III.
The victory ours, the feasting o'er,
The nameless victor gazed around;
“Emir! I claim the prize of war,
Thy daughter's hand.” My father frowned.
“Uplift her in thine arms,” he said;
“Then scale yon hillside smooth and dry:
This done, my daughter thou shalt wed:
To halt—forget not—is to die.”