VI.

Wrapt in the darkest sable vest, Which none save noblest Moslem wear, 570 To guard from winds of Heaven the breast As Heaven itself to Selim dear, With cautious steps the thicket threading, And starting oft, as through the glade The gust its hollow moanings made, Till on the smoother pathway treading, More free her timid bosom beat, The maid pursued her silent guide; And though her terror urged retreat, How could she quit her Selim's side? 580 How teach her tender lips to chide?