Shake to the breezes your regal burnous,
Wave your lance-sceptre wherever you choose!
Monsoor, my chief! ah, I know you at length!
King of the desert, your children are come
To cluster, like sheep, in the shade of your strength,
Or to strike, like young lions, for country and home,
When your eyes are ablaze at the roll of the drum!
Monsoor, my chief! now one gallop, to see
The land you have sworn that no despot shall grind!
Though sun-tanned and arid, by Allah! 'tis free!