From the garrison, watchful and weak;
O'er the tents welcome night-breezes sweep,
Bringing balm unto brow and to cheek
Of men scorched by a pitiless sun
To a hue almost swarthy and deep
As the hue of the foe they would shun.
V.
Stretching dimly afar,
Between slopes that are rugged and bare,
Half obscure under moonbeam and star,