XVII.

"All this, Zuleika, harshly sounds; But harsher still my tale must be: Howe'er my tongue thy softness wounds, Yet I must prove all truth to thee."[gn] I saw thee start this garb to see, Yet is it one I oft have worn, 790 And long must wear: this Galiongée, To whom thy plighted vow is sworn, Is leader of those pirate hordes, Whose laws and lives are on their swords; To hear whose desolating tale Would make thy waning cheek more pale: Those arms thou see'st my band have brought, The hands that wield are not remote; This cup too for the rugged knaves Is filled--once quaffed, they ne'er repine: 800 Our Prophet might forgive the slaves; They're only infidels in wine.