tain be pleased to hear me sing;"
And Shureef, full of feasting, the Kunchenee bade bring.

Then, all before the Muslims, aflame with lawless wine,
Entered the Ranee Neila, in grace and face divine;

And all before the Muslims, wagging their goatish chins,
The Rajpoot Princess set her to the "bee-dance" that begins,

"_If my love loved me, he should be a bee,
I the yellow champak, love the honey of me._"

All the wreathed movements danced she of that dance;
Not a step she slighted, not a wanton glance;

In her unveiled bosom chased th' intruding bee,
To her waist--and lower--she! a Rajpoot, she!

Sang the melting music, swayed the languorous limb:
Shureef's drunken heart beat--Shureef's eyes waxed dim.

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.

At his feet she flings it, flings her burden vile;
"Soorj! I keep my promise! Brothers, build the pile!"

They have built it, set it, all as Rajpoots do
From the cage of iron taken Soorj Dehu;

In the lap of Neila, seated on the pile,
Laid his head--she radiant, like a queen the while.

Then the lamp is lighted, and the ghee is poured--
"Soorj, we burn together: O my love, my lord!"

In the flame and crackle dies her tender tongue,
Dies the Ranee, truest, all true wives among.

At the dawn a clamour runs from tent to tent,
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