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Updated: May 16, 2025
XIX. "Now, one by one, the wounded braves Homeward were seen to wend, Each holding on his saddle bow A dead or dying friend. XX. "Two galliards bore the Eesa's son, The corpse was stark and bare Low moaned the maid, the mother smote Her breast in mute despair. XXI. "The father bent him o'er the dead, The wounds were all before; Again his brow, in sorrow clad, The garb of gladness wore.
I usually slumber through the noise except when Ambar, a half-caste Somal, returning from a trip to Harar, astounds us with his contes bleus, or wild Abtidon howls forth some lay like this: I. "'Tis joyesse all in Eesa's home! The fatted oxen bleed, And slave girls range the pails of milk, And strain the golden mead. II. "'Tis joyesse all in Eesa's home!
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