The Sheik Of Sinai In 1830

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 purling brook
   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,
 Feu!—Allah! Allah!—En avant!
   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 gray,
     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 posture, 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 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 his eye—'tis not his 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 hoped to see."