I "LIFT me without the tent, I say, -- Me and my ottoman, -- I'll see the messenger myself! It is the caravan From Africa, thou sayest, And they bring us news of war? Draw me without the tent, and quick! As at the desert-well The freshness of the bubbling stream Delights the tired gazelle, So pant I for the voice of him That cometh from afar!' II The Scheik was lifted from his tent, And thus outspake the Moor: -- 'I saw, old Chief, the Tricolor On Algiers' topmost tower -- Upon its battlements the silks Of Lyons flutter free. Each morning, in the market-place, The muster-drum is beat. And to the war-hymn of Marseilles The squadrons pace the street. The armament from Toulon sailed: The Franks have crossed the sea. III 'Towards the south the columns marched Beneath a cloudless sky: Their weapons glittered in the blaze Of the sun of Barbary; And with the dusty desert sand Their horses' manes were white. The wild marauding tribes dispersed In terror of their lives; They fled unto the mountains With their children and their wives, And urged the clumsy dromedary Up the Atlas' height. IV 'The Moors have ta'en their vantage-ground, The volleys thunder fast -- The dark defile is blazing Like a heated oven-blast. The Lion hears the strange turmoil, And leaves his mangled prey -- No place was that for him to feed -- And thick and loud the cries, @3Feu! Allah! -- Allah! En avant!@1 In mingled discord rise: The Franks have reached the summit; They have won the victory! V 'With bristling steel, upon the top The victors take their stand; Beneath their feet, with all its towns, They see the promised land -- From Tunis, even unto Fez, From Atlas to the seas. The cavaliers alight to gaze; And gaze full well they may, Where countless minarets stand up So solemnly and grey, Amidst the dark-green masses Of the flowering myrtle-trees. VI 'The almond blossoms in the vale, The aloe from the rock Throws out its long and prickly leaves, Nor dreads the tempest's shock: A blessed land, I ween, is that, Though luckless is its Bey. "There lies the sea -- beyond lies France! Her banners in the air Float proudly and triumphantly -- A salvo! come, prepare!" And loud and long the mountains rang With that glad artillery.' VII ''Tis they!' exclaimed the aged Scheik. 'I've battled by their side -- I fought beneath the Pyramids! That day of deathless pride -- Red as thy turban, Moor, that eve, Was every creek in Nile! But tell me' -- and he griped his hand -- 'Their Sultaun? Stranger, say, -- His form -- his face -- his gesture, man -- Thou saw'st him in the fray? His eye -- what wore he?' But the Moor Sought in his vest awhile. VIII 'Their Sultaun, Scheik, remains at home Within his palace walls; He sends a Pasha in his stead To brave the bolts and balls. He was not there. An Aga burst For him through Atlas' hold. Yet I can show thee somewhat too; A Frankish Cavalier Told me his effigy was stamped Upon this medal here -- He gave it me with others For an Arab steed I sold.' IX The old man took the golden coin: Gazed steadfastly awhile, If that could be the Sultaun Whom from the banks of Nile He guided o'er the desert path? -- Then sighed and thus spake he -- ''Tis not @3his@1 eye -- 'tis not @3his@1 brow -- Another face is there: I never saw this man before -- His head is like a pear! Take back thy medal, Moor -- 'tis not That which I thought to see.' | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A TRINITY OF MOTHERHOOD by FRED CLARE BALDWIN TRUST by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN SHEKLA: A VISION by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE RENEWAL by KATHERINE HARRIS BRADLEY KITTY OF THE SHERRAGH VANE by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN THE FLITCH OF DUNMOW by JAMES CARNEGIE |