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 bubbling stream
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 grey,
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 gesture, 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 it 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 thought to see."

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 bubbling stream
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 grey,
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 gesture, 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 it 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 thought to see."