Of the mameluke trees.
Oh, ope thy gehenna,
Zuleima, my love!
The light of the bulbul
Streams down from above:
'T is brighter than Mollah;
But shouldst thou appear,
'T will pale like the djinn
When muezzin is near.
Oh, fly with thine Azim!
Beneath, on the stream
Floats my gilded chibouque
Like a hadji's bright gleam.
The guards of El Bairam
Are sunk in repose;
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The Yale and Second Regiment Games.