It Was A Grateful Sight To See Old Men, With Long And Silvery
Beards, Reclining In Mute And Serious Attention; Young Men Lounging In
The Pride And Consciousness Of Animal Strength; Little Children
Intermixed, But Without Prattle Or Merriment - All Fixed And Fascinated
With The Charm Of Vocal Song.
The vocalist himself was a picturesque
object; his face was burnt black with Afric's sun, his bare head was
Wildly covered with long, black matted, and curly hair, but his eye was
soft and serene; and, as he stretched his throat upwards to give compass
to his voice, he seemed as if he would catch inspiration from the
Prophet in heaven. A coarse brown blanket enveloped his spare and
way-worn body, his only clothing and shelter from the heat by day and
the cold by night, a fold of which fell upon his naked feet.
The voice of the Arab vocalist was extremely plaintive, even to the
tones and inflections of distress, and the burden of his song was of
religion and of love - two sentiments which all pure minds delight to
combine. When he stopped a moment to take breath, a murmur of applause
vibrated through the still air of the evening, not indeed for the youth,
but for God! [8] for it was a prayer of the artless and enraptured
bystanders, invoking Allah to bless the singing lad, and also to bless
them, while ascribing all praise to the Deity.
This devout scene raised the Moors greatly in my estimation.
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