The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore :: :: University of Virginia Library

Up and march! the timbrel's sound
Wakes the slumb'ring camp around;
Fleet thy hour of rest hath gone,
Armed sleeper, up, and on!
Long and weary is our way
O'er the burning sands to day;
But to pilgrim's homeward feet
Ev'n the desert's path is sweet.

When we lie at dead of night,
Looking up to heaven's light,
Hearing but the watchman's tone
Faintly chaunting “God is one ,”
Oh what thoughts then o'er us come
Of our distant village home,
Where that chaunt, when evening sets,
Sounds from all the minarets.

Cheer thee!—soon shall signal lights,
Kindling o'er the Red-Sea heights,
Kindling quick from man to man,
Hail our coming caravan :
Think what bliss that hour will be!
Looks of home again to see,
And our names again to hear
Murmur'd out by voices dear.

The watchmen, in the camp of the caravans, go their rounds, crying one after another, “God is one,” &c. &c.

“It was customary,” says Irwin, “to light up fires on the mountains, within view of Cosseir, to give notice of the approach of the caravans that came from the Nile.”