ure in thy hand,
Give resignation to one mad with love!
Like one exiled from home, I weep and mourn.
My enemies might give me pity now.
All food is tasteless, and I cannot sleep.
I write this with my love but three days dead.
She left me, said farewell, and came not back.

This song, O ye who listen, was composed
Within the year twelve hundred finished now,
The date by adding ninety-five years more. [1295.]

This song of Ould-es-Serge we have sung
In Ayd-el-Rebye, in the singing month,
At Sydy-Khaled-ben Sinan. A man,
Mahomet ben Guytoun, this song has sung
Of her you'll never see again alive.
My heart lies there in slim Hyzyya's tomb.

THE AISSAOUA IN PARIS[A]

Come, see what's happened in this evil year.
The earthquake tumbled all the houses down,
Locusts and crickets have left naught behind.

Hear what has happened to those negro scamps,
Musicians--rogues, and Aissaoua.
They spoke of nothing but their project great.
Bad luck to him who lacks sincerity!

On learning of the tour of Rayyato
They all began to cry and run about,
Half with bare feet, although the rest were shod.
The Lord afflicts them much in this our world.
'Twas only negroes, poor house-colorers,
Who did not follow them about in crowds.

The Christian Salvador put them on ship.
One felt his breast turn and exclaimed, "I'm sick."
A wench poured aromatics on the fire,
And thus perfumed the air. For Paris now
They're off, to see the great Abd-el-Azyz.

The Christians packed them like a cricket-swarm,
Between the sea and church, upon the wharf
He drew them, wonders promising, and led
Them but to beggary.

He takes them to
His land to show them to the chief of all
His masters, to the Emperor. He hopes
To get a present and thus pay them back,
Retaining all the money he advanced.

[A] Former student of the Medersa of Algiers, bookbinder, lutemaker, and
copier of manuscripts, Qaddour ben Omar ben Beuyna, best known among his
coreligionists as Qaddour el Hadby (the hunchback), who died during the
winter of 1897-1808, has sung for thirty years about all the notables of
his city.

This lively poem was composed by him on they occasion of the departure for
Paris of a band of musicians, singers, and Aissaoua, who figured at the
Exposition of 1867, under the direction of a professor of music named
Salvador Daniel. The original is in