farewell, farewell, to my mother’s own daughter.

the child that she wet-nursed is lapp’d in the wave;

the mussulman, coming to fish in this water,

adds a tear to the flood that weeps over her grave.

this sack is her coffin, this water’s her bier,

this grayish bath cloak is her funeral pall;

and, stranger, o stranger! this song that you hear

is her epitaph, elegy, dirges, and all!

farewell, farewell, to the child of al hassan,

my mother’s own daughter — the last of her race —

she’s a corpse, the poor body! and lies in this basin,

and sleeps in the water that washes her face.