But soon that summons known so well
Thro' bower and hall in Eastern lands,
Whose sound more sure than gong or bell
Lovers and slaves alike commands,—
The clapping of young female hands,
Calls back the groups from rock and field
To see some new-formed scene revealed;—
And fleet and eager down the slopes
Of the green glades like antelopes
When in their thirst they hear the sound
Of distant rills, the light nymphs bound.
Far different now the scene—a waste
Of Libyan sands, by moonlight's ray;
An ancient well, whereon were traced
The warning words, for such as stray
Unarmed there, "Drink and away!"[20]
While near it from the night-ray screened,
And like his bells in husht repose,
A camel slept—young as if weaned
When last the star Canopus rose.[21]
Such was the back-ground's silent scene;—
While nearer lay fast slumbering too
In a rude tent with brow serene
A youth whose cheeks of wayworn hue
And pilgrim-bonnet told the tale
That he had been to Mecca's Vale:
Haply in pleasant dreams, even now
Thinking the long wished hour is come
When o'er the well-known porch at home
His hand shall hang the aloe bough—
Trophy of his accomplished vow.[22]
But brief his dream—for now the call
Of the camp-chiefs from rear to van,
"Bind on your burdens,"[23] wakes up all
The widely slumbering caravan;
And thus meanwhile to greet the ear
Of the young pilgrim as he wakes,
The song of one who lingering near
Had watched his slumber, cheerly breaks.
SONG.
Up and march! the timbrel's sound
Wakes the slumbering camp around;
Fleet thy hour of rest hath gone,
Armed sleeper, up, and on!
Long and weary is our way
O'er the burning sands to-day;
But to pilgrim's homeward feet
Even the desert's path is sweet.
When we lie at dead of night,
Looking up to heaven's light,
Hearing but the watchmans tone
Faintly chanting "God is one,"[24]
Oh what thoughts then o'er us come
Of our distant village home,
Where that chant when evening sets
Sounds from all the minarets.
Cheer thee!—soon shall signal lights,
Kindling o'er the Red Sea heights,
Kindling quick from man to man,
Hail our coming caravan:[25]
Think what bliss that hour will be!
Looks of home again to see,
And our names again to hear
Murmured out by voices dear.
* * * * *
So past the desert dream away,
Fleeting as his who heard this lay,
Nor long the pause between, nor moved
The spell-bound audience from that spot;
While still as usual Fancy roved
On to the joy that yet was not;—
Fancy who hath no present home,
But builds her bower in scenes to come,
Walking for ever in a light
That flows from regions out of sight.