.
Rise with the dawn--ah, very soon--
For me neglect a hundred plans;
Direct thy flight toward the fount,
To Tanina and Cherifa.

"Speak to the eyelash-darkened maid,
To the beautiful one of the pure, white throat;
With teeth like milky pearls.
Red as vermillion are her cheeks;
Her graceful charms have stol'n my reason;
Ceaselessly I see her in my dreams."[8]

"A woman with a pretty nose
Is worth a house of solid stone;
I'd give for her a hundred reaux,[9]
E'en if she quitted me as soon.

"Arching eyebrows on a maid,
With love the genii would entice,
I'd buy her for a thousand reaux,
Even if exile were the price.

"A woman neither fat nor lean
Is like a pleasant forest green,
When she unfolds her budding charms,
She gleams and glows with springtime sheen."[10]

[8] Hanoteau, p. 350-357

[9] Reais

[10] Hanoteau, pp. 302, 303

The same sentiment inspires the Touareg songs, among which tribe women
enjoy much greater liberty and possess a knowledge of letters greater than
that of the men, and know more of that which we should call literature, if
that word were not too ambitious:

"For God's sake leave those hearts in peace,
'Tis Tosdenni torments them so;
She is more graceful than a troop
Of antelopes separated from gazelles;
More beautiful than snowy flocks,
Which move toward the tents,
And with the evening shades appear
To share the nightly gathering;
More beautiful than the striped silks
Enwrapped so closely under the haiks,
More beautiful than the glossy ebon veil,
Enveloped in its paper white,
With which the young man decks himself,
And which sets off his dusky cheek."[1]

[1] Masqueray, Observations grammaticales sur la grammaire Touareg et
textes de la Tourahog des Tailog, pp. 212, 213. Paris, 1897.

The poetic talent of the Touareg women, and the use they make of this
gift--which they employ to celebrate or to rail at, with the accompaniment
of their one-stringed violin, that which excites their admiration or
inspires them with disdain--is a stimulant for warriors:

"That which spurs me to battle is a word of scorn,
And the fear of the eternal malediction
Of God, and the circles of the young
Maidens with their violins.
Their disdain is for those men
Who care not for their own good names.[2]

"Noon has come, the meeting's sure.
Hearts of wind love not the battle;
As though they had no fear of t