Poems, on sacred and other subjects and songs, humorous and sentimental: By the late William Watt. Third edition of the songs only--with additional songs |
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The Mahometan Pilgrim.
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 | Poems, on sacred and other subjects |  |
The Mahometan Pilgrim.
From the green plains of Midian Aretas did stray
To the temple of Mecca, to pay his devotion;
Breezy evening approach'd at the exit of day,
For the sun sank beyond the Egyptian ocean.
To the temple of Mecca, to pay his devotion;
Breezy evening approach'd at the exit of day,
For the sun sank beyond the Egyptian ocean.
He had wash'd his feet in a clear cooling spring,
And partaken what supper his scrip did contain,
With his hymn made the whole Caravansary ring,
While devotion did soar with his echoing strain.
And partaken what supper his scrip did contain,
With his hymn made the whole Caravansary ring,
While devotion did soar with his echoing strain.
He had sunk in soft slumbers upon his straw bed,
And the dreams of his Prophet did float in his mind;
He did fancy himself to Elysium led,
Where he left earth's perplexities far, far behind.
And the dreams of his Prophet did float in his mind;
He did fancy himself to Elysium led,
Where he left earth's perplexities far, far behind.
136
He dream'd that the land was delightfully gay,
With groves, flowers, and pleasant streams, bless'd past compare;
And many a clear winding streamlet did stray,
By whose verdant banks never frown'd sordid care.
With groves, flowers, and pleasant streams, bless'd past compare;
And many a clear winding streamlet did stray,
By whose verdant banks never frown'd sordid care.
In this bless'd abode he the 'habitants heard,
With their voices immortal, glad chanting their numbers;
When, sudden around, fancy's visions were marr'd
By the rude clang of arms, which dispell'd his sweet slumbers.
With their voices immortal, glad chanting their numbers;
When, sudden around, fancy's visions were marr'd
By the rude clang of arms, which dispell'd his sweet slumbers.
“Arouse! to arms, each man of might!
For now depart the shades of night.”
(Aretas heard, not far away,
This was the call of Morgavay
The robber, with his fearless band,
The scourge and terror of the land;
Who shortly paused, and, in a trice,
Again was heard his awful voice.)
“Rise, friends, to march with utmost speed,
The pursuit of the foe I dread;
Their vengeance, roused to utmost height,
May prompt perhaps to deeds of might:
But, lest they chance to find our rout,
For treach'rous spies look all about;
And each we meet, or friend or foe,
Must feel the dagger's fatal blow.
Within yon Caravansary,
Perchance, some pilgrim there may lie;
Haste, therefore, haste, with utmost speed,
And all you find, quick, make them bleed.”
For now depart the shades of night.”
(Aretas heard, not far away,
This was the call of Morgavay
The robber, with his fearless band,
The scourge and terror of the land;
Who shortly paused, and, in a trice,
Again was heard his awful voice.)
“Rise, friends, to march with utmost speed,
The pursuit of the foe I dread;
Their vengeance, roused to utmost height,
May prompt perhaps to deeds of might:
But, lest they chance to find our rout,
For treach'rous spies look all about;
And each we meet, or friend or foe,
Must feel the dagger's fatal blow.
Within yon Caravansary,
Perchance, some pilgrim there may lie;
Haste, therefore, haste, with utmost speed,
And all you find, quick, make them bleed.”
Aretas heard his orders dire—
Appall'd, distracted. His desire
To execute, his scouts drew nigh,
Who pull'd their morglays from the thigh.
Aretas fell on bended knee,
And begg'd that they would let him free;
Told them, for Mecca he was bound,
To see the Prophet's natal ground;
No spy he'd prove, though he should meet
Their rude pursuers, bold and fleet:
If rage were e'er to pity changed,
He had e'en now been from his ire estranged.
Appall'd, distracted. His desire
To execute, his scouts drew nigh,
Who pull'd their morglays from the thigh.
Aretas fell on bended knee,
And begg'd that they would let him free;
Told them, for Mecca he was bound,
To see the Prophet's natal ground;
No spy he'd prove, though he should meet
Their rude pursuers, bold and fleet:
If rage were e'er to pity changed,
He had e'en now been from his ire estranged.
137
But pity they knew not, so struck him to death;
With a look of forgiveness he, fainting, expired:
On the name of his Prophet he spent his last breath,
While his saint-like demeanor his en'mies admired.
With a look of forgiveness he, fainting, expired:
On the name of his Prophet he spent his last breath,
While his saint-like demeanor his en'mies admired.
His corpse they soon hid in the light fleeting sand,
Lest the action should lead to discover their track:
Long his friends wish'd in vain for his company bland,
But, alas! poor Aretas did never come back.
Lest the action should lead to discover their track:
Long his friends wish'd in vain for his company bland,
But, alas! poor Aretas did never come back.
| Poems, on sacred and other subjects | |