 | Young Arthur |  |
And Allan he stood 'neath the cloudless sky
Of the barren, and parching, Araby;
For Allan had compassed sea and land,
Careless of where he found a strand.
Bereft of his parents, his right, and his friend,
Scorn'd by Edith, impatient of scorn,
Where chance might lead, or his wand'rings end,
Little he reck'd if from Edith borne.
And the bark which his hopeless fortunes bore
For Smyrna weigh'd from his native shore;
And “adieu,” he cried, as he left the strand,
“For ever, adieu! to my father's land;”
But, ere he came to the destin'd bay,
Wreck'd on a friendless shore he lay;
There by a wretch was senseless found,
Who robb'd, then, rais'd him from the ground,
Restor'd life's spark, and convey'd him home,
But counted on guerdon and gold to come.
For he was a man of a ruthless mood,
And his was the traffic of human blood;
The rights of nature he trampled o'er,
And the ties of the heart asunder tore;
Gold was his god, and craft his grace,
And he liv'd by the wreck of the human race.
He foster'd Allan with fraudful care;
To Aleppo he sail'd, having 'lur'd Allan there;
Then the mask threw off; and to swell his hoard,
The gold is weigh'd at the merchant's board,
And Allan's the slave of a Turkish lord.
And his was labour from dawn to fall,
And he sigh'd for the land of his father's hall.
Of the barren, and parching, Araby;
For Allan had compassed sea and land,
Careless of where he found a strand.
Bereft of his parents, his right, and his friend,
Scorn'd by Edith, impatient of scorn,
Where chance might lead, or his wand'rings end,
Little he reck'd if from Edith borne.
And the bark which his hopeless fortunes bore
For Smyrna weigh'd from his native shore;
174
“For ever, adieu! to my father's land;”
But, ere he came to the destin'd bay,
Wreck'd on a friendless shore he lay;
There by a wretch was senseless found,
Who robb'd, then, rais'd him from the ground,
Restor'd life's spark, and convey'd him home,
But counted on guerdon and gold to come.
For he was a man of a ruthless mood,
And his was the traffic of human blood;
The rights of nature he trampled o'er,
And the ties of the heart asunder tore;
Gold was his god, and craft his grace,
And he liv'd by the wreck of the human race.
He foster'd Allan with fraudful care;
To Aleppo he sail'd, having 'lur'd Allan there;
Then the mask threw off; and to swell his hoard,
The gold is weigh'd at the merchant's board,
And Allan's the slave of a Turkish lord.
And his was labour from dawn to fall,
And he sigh'd for the land of his father's hall.
| Young Arthur | |