 | Safie |  |
The camels were burthen'd silently,
With many a rich and varied garb;
And the strongest camel, the fleetest barb,
Were there selected carefully:—
For they were to travel o'er sand and plain,
That never shone with dew or rain;—
And they were to journey o'er many a hill,
That never felt a trickling rill;—
O'er barren shores and wasted fields,
That not a blade of herbage yields:—
But rough and hot, to weary feet,
Serve but to harden in the heat.
A few went with him, and few were meet,
Of harden'd valour and chosen might;—
The first to attack,—the last to retreat,
In the frenzied hour of fight.
And they were arm'd for fray or flight,
For combat close, or savage chase:
Their arms were many, strong, and light,
To aid the war or aid the race;
Beside the thigh a sabre hung,—
Across the back a musket slung,
And close observer might behold
An Ataghan in garments' fold:
The chosen steeds, in spirit high,
Threw their black foreheads to the sky,
And seem'd, all restless of delay,
To fret and foam at weary stay:—
And Assad stays no more!—They feel
The shaking rein,—the spur of steel;—
With spurning foot, and lashing tail,
They speed away from Eastern vale,—
And, freely to their rider's will,
Rush up the steep and rugged hill.
With many a rich and varied garb;
And the strongest camel, the fleetest barb,
Were there selected carefully:—
For they were to travel o'er sand and plain,
That never shone with dew or rain;—
And they were to journey o'er many a hill,
That never felt a trickling rill;—
O'er barren shores and wasted fields,
That not a blade of herbage yields:—
But rough and hot, to weary feet,
Serve but to harden in the heat.
32
Of harden'd valour and chosen might;—
The first to attack,—the last to retreat,
In the frenzied hour of fight.
And they were arm'd for fray or flight,
For combat close, or savage chase:
Their arms were many, strong, and light,
To aid the war or aid the race;
Beside the thigh a sabre hung,—
Across the back a musket slung,
And close observer might behold
An Ataghan in garments' fold:
The chosen steeds, in spirit high,
Threw their black foreheads to the sky,
And seem'd, all restless of delay,
To fret and foam at weary stay:—
And Assad stays no more!—They feel
The shaking rein,—the spur of steel;—
33
They speed away from Eastern vale,—
And, freely to their rider's will,
Rush up the steep and rugged hill.
| Safie | |