liis Mure. 
2.r2 THE HOLY LAND. 
handkerchief; would rub her with his shirt- 
sleeves ; would give her a thousand benedic- 
tions, during whole hours that he would remain 
^i'^i7«6^o talking to her. 'My Eyes,' would he say to 
her, ' my Soul, my Heart, must I be so unfortunate 
as to have thee sold to so many masters, and not to 
keep thee mdjseJf? I am poor, my Antelope ! Thou 
knoiuest it well, my darling J I brought thee up in 
my dwelling, as my child; I did never beat nor 
chide thee ; I caressed thee in the fondest maimer. 
God preserve thee, my beloved I Thou art beau- 
tiful ! Thou art sweet ! Thou art lovely ! God 
defend thee from envious eyes^ /' " 
Upon our arrival in the camp, we found the 
General in a large green tent, open all around, 
and affording very little shelter from the heat, 
as the Simooiri, or wind of the desert ^ was at 
(1) See the passage from Virgil^ iu a former Note, 
(2) An allusion to the '' fF'ind of the desei't" occurs in the Poem» 
of OssiAN. Malvina, the daughter of Toscur, lamenting; the death 
of her lover, says, " I was a lovely tree, in thy presence, Oscar, with 
all niy branches around me ; but thy death came like a blast from this 
desert, and laid my green head low." If this be nut an interpolation 
of Macpherson, tlie translator of Croma, it may be ur^ed as a striking 
instance of internal evidence with regard to the Celtic oriijin of those 
Poems; the Cells, who were Phcenicians, having thus preserved, by 
tradition, a metaphor derived neither Irom Ireland nor from Scotland, 
where the blast of the desert has never been felt, but from the parent 
country of the Celtic race, whence the saying was traa?ferred into the 
J£rse poetry. 
