 | The poems and stories of Fitz-James O'Brien |  |
THE ZOUAVES.
To bugle-note and beat of drum
They come,—the gallant Zouaves come!
With gleams of blue and glints of red;
With airy, light, elastic tread;
With dashing, wild, insouciant air;
With figures sinewy, lithe, and spare;
With gait replete with fiery grace;
With cloudless eye and boyish face,
And agile play of feet and hands,
Swift as a Bedouin of the sands,
They come,—the gay Zouaves!
They come,—the gallant Zouaves come!
With gleams of blue and glints of red;
With airy, light, elastic tread;
With dashing, wild, insouciant air;
With figures sinewy, lithe, and spare;
With gait replete with fiery grace;
With cloudless eye and boyish face,
And agile play of feet and hands,
Swift as a Bedouin of the sands,
They come,—the gay Zouaves!
Lo! as they file along the green,
I seem to see the Algerine!
The marble piles of building fade,
And the vast desert, without shade—
Save where the oasis uplifts
Its green plumes 'mid the sandy drifts—
Stretches before my dazzled sight
While, rising o'er a distant height,
On lean, swift steeds, with slender spears,
The sallow Arab troop appears,
To chase the French Zouaves!
I seem to see the Algerine!
The marble piles of building fade,
And the vast desert, without shade—
Save where the oasis uplifts
Its green plumes 'mid the sandy drifts—
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While, rising o'er a distant height,
On lean, swift steeds, with slender spears,
The sallow Arab troop appears,
To chase the French Zouaves!
They slope along the gold-red sand;
Their keen eyes sweep the sky and land;
The lean steeds snuff the desert wind;
The watchful vulture soars behind,
But nothing moves upon the plain;
The keen eyes search the sands in vain.
Before, behind, and left and right,
A sandy ripple meets the sight:
Not even these black-eyed devils know
That, nigh yon sand-hill, lying low,
Are crouched the brave Zouaves!
Their keen eyes sweep the sky and land;
The lean steeds snuff the desert wind;
The watchful vulture soars behind,
But nothing moves upon the plain;
The keen eyes search the sands in vain.
Before, behind, and left and right,
A sandy ripple meets the sight:
Not even these black-eyed devils know
That, nigh yon sand-hill, lying low,
Are crouched the brave Zouaves!
Four puffs of smoke that seem to float
From out the earth,—a crackling note,—
Four saddles emptied in the troop!
Then, wild and shrill the Arab whoop,
And, spurring with the stirruped feet,
And dashing of the coursers fleet,
And then—four puffs of smoke once more,
Four saddles emptied as before.
In vain their Allah they invoke,—
With pertinacious puffs of smoke
Reply the brave Zouaves!
From out the earth,—a crackling note,—
Four saddles emptied in the troop!
Then, wild and shrill the Arab whoop,
And, spurring with the stirruped feet,
And dashing of the coursers fleet,
And then—four puffs of smoke once more,
Four saddles emptied as before.
In vain their Allah they invoke,—
With pertinacious puffs of smoke
Reply the brave Zouaves!
Out of the earth, like Genii, rise
The red Zouaves with flashing eyes,
And on the sallow Arab troop
Like hawks upon a bird they swoop,
With bayonet keen, with murderous gun,
With curious, planned, erratic run,
With sudden fall upon the sand,
With quick deploy, with gun in hand:
Thus like a meteor of the skies,
Vivid with red and blue, arise
The dauntless French Zouaves!
The red Zouaves with flashing eyes,
And on the sallow Arab troop
Like hawks upon a bird they swoop,
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With curious, planned, erratic run,
With sudden fall upon the sand,
With quick deploy, with gun in hand:
Thus like a meteor of the skies,
Vivid with red and blue, arise
The dauntless French Zouaves!
Over the tawny sands they fly,
Now seem they far, now seem they nigh.
They fire and fall, they fall and fire,
They scud on limbs of sinewy wire;
In each manœuvre seeming wild,
Each soldier 's docile as a child;
And even the fleetest Arab finds
A foe that 's fleeter than the winds.
Thus, outmanœuvred and outsped,
He turns and hides his haughty head
Before the French Zouaves!
Now seem they far, now seem they nigh.
They fire and fall, they fall and fire,
They scud on limbs of sinewy wire;
In each manœuvre seeming wild,
Each soldier 's docile as a child;
And even the fleetest Arab finds
A foe that 's fleeter than the winds.
Thus, outmanœuvred and outsped,
He turns and hides his haughty head
Before the French Zouaves!
Your Zouave corps, O haughty France!
We looked on as a wild romance,
And many a voice was heard to scoff
At Algiers and at Malakoff;
Nor did we Yankees credit quite
Their evolutions in the fight.
But now we 're very sure what they
Have done can here be done to-day,
When thus before our sight deploys
The gallant corps from Illinois,—
American Zouaves!
We looked on as a wild romance,
And many a voice was heard to scoff
At Algiers and at Malakoff;
Nor did we Yankees credit quite
Their evolutions in the fight.
But now we 're very sure what they
Have done can here be done to-day,
When thus before our sight deploys
The gallant corps from Illinois,—
American Zouaves!
| The poems and stories of Fitz-James O'Brien | |