“A wanderer came, as a stricken deer,
O’er the waste of burning sand,
He bore the wound of an Arab spear,
He fled from a ruthless band.
“And dreams of home in a troubled tide
Swept o’er his darkening eye,
As he lay down by the fountain-side,
In his mute despair to die.
“But his glance was caught by the desert’s flower,
The precious boon of heaven;