The Women of the Arabs Part 20

If she love you not, my boy, May the Lord her life destroy!

Seven mules tread her down, Drag her body through the town!

Snakes that from the ceiling hang, Sting her dead with poison fang!

Soldiers from Damascus city, Drag her off and shew no pity!

Nor release her for a day, Though a thousand pounds she pay!

That is about enough of imprecations, and it will be pleasanter to listen to Katrina, for she will sing us some of the sweetest of the Syrian Nursery Songs.

Sleep, my moon, my baby sleep!

The Pleiades bright their watches keep.

The Libra s.h.i.+nes so fair and clear, The stars are s.h.i.+ning, hush my dear!

There is not much music in the tunes they sing to these words. The airs generally are plaintive and monotonous, and have a sad and weary sound.

Here is another:

My boy, my moon, I bid you good morrow!

Who wishes you peace shall know no sorrow!

Whom you salute, his earth is like heaven, His care relieved, his sin forgiven!

She says that last line is extravagant, and I think as much. The next one is a Moslem lullaby.

O Lord of the heavens, Knowing and Wise, Preserve my Ali, the light of my eyes!

Lord of high heaven, Compa.s.sionate!

Keep my dear boy in every state!

This one is used by the women of all the sects, but in all of the songs the name is changed to suit the name of the baby to whom the mother is singing,

Ali, your eyes are sleeping, But G.o.d's eyes never sleep: Their hours of lonely weeping None can forever keep.

How sweet is the night of health, When Ali sleeps in peace!

Oh may such nights continue, Nor ever, ever cease!

Among all the scores of nursery songs, I have heard only a very few addressed to _girls_, but some of these are beautiful. Hear Katrina sing this one:

Lulu dear the house is bright, With your forehead's sunny light; Men your father honor now When they see your lovely brow.

If father comes home sad and weary, Sight of you will make him cheery.

The "fuller's soap" mentioned in Malachi 3:2, is the plant called in Arabic "Ashnan or Shenan," and the Arabs sometimes use it in the place of soap. The following is another song addressed to a baby girl:

Come Cameleer, as quick as you can, And make us soap from the green "Shenan,"

To bathe our Lulu dear; We'll wash her and dress her, And then we'll caress her, She'll sleep in her little sereer. (cradle)

This song is sung by the Druze women to their baby girls:

Your eye is jet black, and dark are its lashes, Between the arched brows, like a crescent it flashes; When painted with "kohl" 'tis brighter by far, Than the full-orbed moon or the morning star.

The following is supposed to be addressed by a Druze woman to her neighbor who has a daughter of marriageable age, when she is obliged to veil her face:

Hide your daughter, veil her face, Neighbor, do not tarry: For my Hanna is of age, Says he wants to marry.

When I asked about his choice, Said he was not needy: But that if he ever wed, He thought he'd like Fereedy.

The next one is also Druze and purely Oriental:

Two healths, one health, Four healths more: Four sacks of sesame seed, Scattered on the floor; Pick and count them one by one.

Reckon up their number; For every seed wish Ha.s.san's health.

Sweetly may he slumber!

The Druze women delight in nothing so much as to have their sons ride fine horses:

My Yusef, my cup of sherbet sweet, My broadcloth red hung over the street, When you ride the blood mare with sword and pistol, Your saddle is gold and your stirrups crystal.

Katrina says that this little song is the morning salutation to baby boys:

Good morning now to you, Little boy!

Your face is like the dew, Little boy!

There never was a child, so merry and so mild, So good morning once again, Little boy!

This song is sung by the Druze women to their babes:

O Sparrow of Paradise, Hush him to sleep?

Your feathers are "henna."

Watch him and keep!

Bring sleep soft and sweet Upon your white wings!

For Ha.s.san the pet And his mother who sings!

The apples of Damascus are noted throughout Syria, though we should regard them as very poor fruit:

What's he like? If any ask us, Flowers and apples of Damascus; Apples fragrant on the tray, Roses sweet with scent of May.

Laia says that the next one is sung by the Druze women to their baby boys:

I love you, I prize you, and for you I wish, A hundred oak trees in the valley; A hundred blood mares all tied in the court, And ready for foray or sally.

Mount your horse, fly away, with your scarf flowing free, The chiefs of the tribe will a.s.semble; Damascus, Aleppo, and Ghutah beside, At the sound of your coming will tremble.

Nejmeh says that the Bedawin women who come to Safita, her native place, often sing the following song:

Come little Bedawy, sit on my lap, Pretty pearls s.h.i.+ne in your little white cap, Rings are in your ears, Rings are in your nose, Rings upon your fingers, And "henna" on your toes.

They use the "henna" to dye their hands, feet and finger nails, when a wedding or festive occasion occurs in the family.

Katrina recalls another little song which she used to sing to Harry:

Welcome now, my baby dear, Whence did you come?

Your voice is sweet, What little feet!

Make yourself at home!

Nideh, the Druze girl down stairs is ready with another song. She is rocking little Sheikh Fereed in his cradle, and says:

In your cradle sleep my boy, Rest from all your labor; May El Hakim, heaven's G.o.d, Ever be your neighbor!