Note 10 — Chapter XII
Reading edition
For the benefit of the reader I subjoin two of there songs translated from the originals; or rather, I may say, paraphrased: although the first of them has the same rhythm as the original. The notes are but very little, if at all, altered from those which have been frequently sung to me, accompanied by a drum, called a tarabouka, or a long sort of guitar with only two or three strings. It must be observed that the chorus, Amaan, Amaan, Amaan, is generally added to all songs—à discrétion—and that the way this chorus is howled out, is to an European ear the most difficult part to bear of the whole:—
1.
Thine eyes, thine eyes have kill'd me:
With love my heart is torn:
Thy looks with pain have fill'd me:
Amaan, Amaan, Amaan.
2.
Oh gently, dearest! gently,
Approach me not with scorn:
With one sweet look content me:
Amaan, Amaan, Amaan.
3.
That yellow shawl encloses
A form made to adorn
A Peri's bower of roses:
Amaan, Amaan, Amaan.
4.
The snows, the snows are melting
On the hills of Isfahan.
As fair, be as relenting:
Amaan, Amaan, Amaan.
* * * * * * *
1.
Let not her, whose eyelids sleep,
Imagine I no vigil keep.
Alas! with hope and love I burn:
Ah! do not from thy lover turn!
2.
Patron of lovers, Bedowi!
Ah! give me her I hold most dear;
And I will vow to her, and thee,
The brightest shawl In all Cashmere.
3.
Ah! when I view thy loveliness,
The lustre of thy deep black eye,
My songs but add to my distress!
Let me behold thee once, and die.
4.
Think not that scorn and bitter words
Can make me from my true love sever!
Pierce our hearts, then, with your swords:
The blood of both will flow together.
5.
Fill us the golden bowl with wine;
Give us the ripe and downy peach:
And, in this bower of jessamine,
No sorrows our retreat shall reach.
6.
Masr may boast her lovely girls,
Whose necks are deck'd with pearls and gold:
The gold would fall; the purest pearls
Would blush could they my love behold.
7.
Famed Skanderieh's beauties, too,
On Syria's richest silks recline:
Their rosy lips are sweet, 'tis true;
But can they be compar'd to thine?
8.
Fairest! your beauty comes from Heaven:
Freely the lovely gift was given.
Resist not, then, the high decree—
'Twas fated I should sigh for thee.
This last song is well known upon the Nile by the name of its chorus, Doas ya leili.