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The Arab Steed
Amid his foes that slumbered round,
The desert chief lay faint and bound;
And joyless saw the fires of night
Look silent down from their blue height;
For round his heart, as he lay there,
Gathered the spectres of despair.
The desert chief lay faint and bound;
And joyless saw the fires of night
Look silent down from their blue height;
For round his heart, as he lay there,
Gathered the spectres of despair.
His wife, his home, his children, all
The lonely heart would fain recall
To cheer its darkest hour of gloom,
Seemed phantoms starting from the tomb,
That rise when blackening clouds of woe
Their shadows o'er the spirit throw.
The lonely heart would fain recall
To cheer its darkest hour of gloom,
Seemed phantoms starting from the tomb,
That rise when blackening clouds of woe
Their shadows o'er the spirit throw.
He starts—upon him breaks a voice
He ne'er had heard but to rejoice,
The neighing of his sable steed,
Whose lion strength and lightning speed
Had been his only, surest trust,
When round him rolled the battle dust.
He ne'er had heard but to rejoice,
The neighing of his sable steed,
Whose lion strength and lightning speed
Had been his only, surest trust,
When round him rolled the battle dust.
The captive cord had fettered fast
That swiftness of the winged blast;
But still his lion spirit now,
Unchained, is struggling on his brow,
As if there lived a soul of flame,
No chain could hold, no arm could tame.
That swiftness of the winged blast;
But still his lion spirit now,
Unchained, is struggling on his brow,
As if there lived a soul of flame,
No chain could hold, no arm could tame.
He starts—though 't were a sight of pain,
He still would see that friend again;
Again his noble steed would bless
With his known voice and kind caress;
Wounded and cut by torturing thong
He drew his heavy limbs along,
And when he saw his courser nigh,
The tear was starting in his eye.
He still would see that friend again;
Again his noble steed would bless
With his known voice and kind caress;
Wounded and cut by torturing thong
He drew his heavy limbs along,
40
The tear was starting in his eye.
“I wept not when the thirsty sand
Drank the warm life-blood of my band,
Nor when I heard the Turk's proud voice
Loud o'er their fallen foe rejoice;
But when I see thee, once so free,
A sharer in my misery,
The tears my pride forbade to flow
Fall now unheeded o'er thy woe.
Drank the warm life-blood of my band,
Nor when I heard the Turk's proud voice
Loud o'er their fallen foe rejoice;
But when I see thee, once so free,
A sharer in my misery,
The tears my pride forbade to flow
Fall now unheeded o'er thy woe.
“No more, mid sabres flashing bright,
Thou'lt share the rapture of the fight;
Nor hover round the haughty foe,
With whistling shaft and twanging bow;
Nor, when dark danger's hour is near,
Will thy tried strength my courage cheer,
And, swift as dust-cloud in the wind,
Leave far the baffled foe behind.
Thou'lt share the rapture of the fight;
Nor hover round the haughty foe,
With whistling shaft and twanging bow;
Nor, when dark danger's hour is near,
Will thy tried strength my courage cheer,
And, swift as dust-cloud in the wind,
Leave far the baffled foe behind.
“No more shall Jordan's limpid tide
With coolness bathe thy reeking side,
Nor thy proud chest in triumph brave
The dashings of its angry wave;
No more, when day's bright beams are spent,
Thy feet with joy shall seek the tent,
Where now my children haste to bear
The camel's milk, thy wonted share,
And stretch their little hands in vain
To bid thee take the welcome grain.
With coolness bathe thy reeking side,
Nor thy proud chest in triumph brave
The dashings of its angry wave;
No more, when day's bright beams are spent,
Thy feet with joy shall seek the tent,
Where now my children haste to bear
The camel's milk, thy wonted share,
And stretch their little hands in vain
To bid thee take the welcome grain.
“And must I see thee then, my brave,
The desert's lord, a Pacha's slave—
Shut from the free-trod pastures wide,
The dwellings of thy native pride?
Within the Turk's close-prisoned roof
Shall fetters bind thy swift-winged hoof?
No—though these limbs can ne'er be free,
His hand shall throw no chain on thee.”
He said—and bit the cord that bound
His sable courser's neck around;
And, as his hands so fondly stroke,
His voice in struggling accents broke.
The desert's lord, a Pacha's slave—
Shut from the free-trod pastures wide,
The dwellings of thy native pride?
Within the Turk's close-prisoned roof
Shall fetters bind thy swift-winged hoof?
No—though these limbs can ne'er be free,
His hand shall throw no chain on thee.”
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His sable courser's neck around;
And, as his hands so fondly stroke,
His voice in struggling accents broke.
“Go—swift as thou wert wont to speed
Along thy oft-trod path, my steed,
Return—and seek the tent, thy home,
Round which thy footsteps loved to roam;
And pass within its folds thy head,
Where now my infants sadly tread,
And tell them—they shall hear no more
The voice of love they heard before.”
Along thy oft-trod path, my steed,
Return—and seek the tent, thy home,
Round which thy footsteps loved to roam;
And pass within its folds thy head,
Where now my infants sadly tread,
And tell them—they shall hear no more
The voice of love they heard before.”
He ceased—but still his steed remained,—
No cord now bound—yet love still chained—
He could not leave the voice that blessed,
The hand that had so oft caressed,
But stops, and where his master's belt
Was strongest girt, a moment smelt;
Then seized with firm-set teeth the prize,
And homeward o'er the desert flies.
No cord now bound—yet love still chained—
He could not leave the voice that blessed,
The hand that had so oft caressed,
But stops, and where his master's belt
Was strongest girt, a moment smelt;
Then seized with firm-set teeth the prize,
And homeward o'er the desert flies.
The night's last stars have left the sky,
And day has oped his burning eye;
And now the steed, with labor spent,
Has gained, with morn, the well-known tent,
And lifeless sinks upon the sand,
Where round him throng the startled band.
In vain the children strive to raise
The head all silent to their praise,
And call by each endearing name
Their hearts' warm sympathy can frame;—
No tongue can now recall the life,
That perished in that noble strife,
The love whose strength was all unknown,
Until with life that love had flown.
And day has oped his burning eye;
And now the steed, with labor spent,
Has gained, with morn, the well-known tent,
And lifeless sinks upon the sand,
Where round him throng the startled band.
In vain the children strive to raise
The head all silent to their praise,
And call by each endearing name
Their hearts' warm sympathy can frame;—
No tongue can now recall the life,
That perished in that noble strife,
The love whose strength was all unknown,
Until with life that love had flown.
And loud was heard the voice of grief
For him whose death restored their chief;
And maidens' voice, and minstrels' song
The memory of his deed prolong.
For him whose death restored their chief;
And maidens' voice, and minstrels' song
The memory of his deed prolong.
Poem No. 36; c. spring 1836
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