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Translated by J. C. Mangan
’T WAS at midnight, in the desert, where we rested on the ground; | |
| There my Beddaweens were sleeping, and their steeds were stretched around; | |
| In the farness lay the moonlight on the mountains of the Nile, | |
| And the camel-bones that strewed the sands for many an arid mile. | |
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| With my saddle for a pillow I did prop my weary head, | 5 |
| And my caftan-cloth unfolded o’er my limbs was lightly spread, | |
| While beside me, both as captain and as watchman of my band, | |
| Lay my Bazra sword and pistols twain a-shimmering on the sand. | |
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| And the stillness was unbroken, save at moments, by a cry | |
| From some stray belated vulture sailing blackly down the sky, | 10 |
| Or the snortings of a sleeping steed at waters fancy-seen, | |
| Or the hurried warlike mutterings of some dreaming Beddaween. | |
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| When, behold!—a sudden sandquake,—and atween the earth and moon | |
| Rose a mighty host of shadows, as from out some dim lagoon; | |
| Then our coursers gasped with terror, and a thrill shook every man, | 15 |
| And the cry was “Allah Akbar! ’t is the Spectre-Caravan!” | |
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| On they came, their hueless faces tóward Mecca evermore: | |
| On they came, long files of camels, and of women whom they bore; | |
| Guides and merchants, youthful maidens, bearing pitchers like Rebecca, | |
| And behind them troops of horsemen, dashing, hurrying on to Mecca! | 20 |
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| More and more! the phantom-pageant overshadowed all the plains, | |
| Yea, the ghastly camel-bones arose, and grew to camel-trains; | |
| And the whirling column-clouds of sand to forms in dusky garbs, | |
| Here, afoot as Hadjee pilgrims,—there, as warriors on their barbs! | |
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| Whence we knew the night was come when all whom death had sought and found, | 25 |
| Long ago amid the sands whereon their bones yet bleach around, | |
| Rise by legions from the darkness of their prisons low and lone, | |
| And in dim procession march to kiss the Kaaba’s Holy Stone. | |
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| More and more! the last in order have not passed across the plain, | |
| Ere the first with slackened bridle fast are flying back again. | 30 |
| From Cape Verde’s palmy summits, even to Babel-Mandel’s sands, | |
| They have sped ere yet my charger, wildly rearing, breaks his bands! | |
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| Courage! hold the plunging horses; each man to his charger’s head! | |
| Tremble not as timid sheep-flocks tremble at the lion’s tread. | |
| Fear not, though yon waving mantles fan you as they hasten on; | 35 |
| Call on Allah! and the pageant ere you look again is gone! | |
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| Patience! till the morning breezes wave again your turban’s plume; | |
| Morning air and rosy dawning are their heralds to the tomb. | |
| Once again to dust shall daylight doom these wanderers of the night; | |
| See, it dawns!—a joyous welcome neigh our horses to the light! | 40 |
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