 | Young Arthur |  |
The simple feast of the Arab o'er,
Allan and that fair slave implore
Of the grateful chief both guard and guide,
To the nearest port where, 'chance, might ride
Some bark, to the isle of freemen bound,
To bear them for ever from graceless ground.
The grateful chief, with a generous hand,
Supplies their wants and at their command
A guard he places—“God speed!” he cries,
While mist appear'd in the Arab's eyes;
Rude in nature, but rich in heart,
He must with his life's preserver part,
And part for ever, “God speed!” he said,
“And blessing be ever on either head;
Now speed ye well to the Christian shore,
And no better wish can my friendship say
Than, may you return to no Moslem bay,
Though Irad the Arab shall see you no more;
God speed! God speed!”—and his hand he waves,
Then over the desart the ransom'd slaves
Fly with safety, and fly with speed:
And, blessing the Arab, with joy proceed;
Retrace their track: while the Turkish lord
Is on to Bassorah; for soon the sword
And the matchlock ceas'd to swell death's prey,
And the caravan, robb'd, resum'd its way;
And the Turk, who deem'd his haram's boast
A plundered prize to the Arab host,
Went murmuring on with the caravan,
And there we leave the worldly man.
The pair with rapture retrac'd their track,
And the shores of Aleppo receiv'd 'em back;
Rich merchants' habits disguise supply
To guard from suspicion's intrusive eye:
And an English bark in the bay is moor'd,
Their passage is paid, and they're safe aboard;
The anchor's up, and the sails are squar'd,
The helm's in hand, and the harbour's clear'd,
The breeze is strong, and their fears are o'er,
And, merry, they steer toward's England's shore;
Full many an hour runs out the sand,
Many a day and night have past,
And, touching at many a foreign land,
On England's shore they stand at last.
Allan and that fair slave implore
Of the grateful chief both guard and guide,
To the nearest port where, 'chance, might ride
Some bark, to the isle of freemen bound,
To bear them for ever from graceless ground.
The grateful chief, with a generous hand,
Supplies their wants and at their command
A guard he places—“God speed!” he cries,
While mist appear'd in the Arab's eyes;
Rude in nature, but rich in heart,
He must with his life's preserver part,
And part for ever, “God speed!” he said,
“And blessing be ever on either head;
Now speed ye well to the Christian shore,
And no better wish can my friendship say
203
Though Irad the Arab shall see you no more;
God speed! God speed!”—and his hand he waves,
Then over the desart the ransom'd slaves
Fly with safety, and fly with speed:
And, blessing the Arab, with joy proceed;
Retrace their track: while the Turkish lord
Is on to Bassorah; for soon the sword
And the matchlock ceas'd to swell death's prey,
And the caravan, robb'd, resum'd its way;
And the Turk, who deem'd his haram's boast
A plundered prize to the Arab host,
Went murmuring on with the caravan,
And there we leave the worldly man.
The pair with rapture retrac'd their track,
And the shores of Aleppo receiv'd 'em back;
Rich merchants' habits disguise supply
To guard from suspicion's intrusive eye:
And an English bark in the bay is moor'd,
Their passage is paid, and they're safe aboard;
The anchor's up, and the sails are squar'd,
The helm's in hand, and the harbour's clear'd,
The breeze is strong, and their fears are o'er,
And, merry, they steer toward's England's shore;
204
Many a day and night have past,
And, touching at many a foreign land,
On England's shore they stand at last.
| Young Arthur | |