Tho' now the prospect lowers,
And conquest, peace, and liberty
Shall gild our future hours."

The foe advanc'd:--in firm array
We rush'd o'er Sabla's sands,
And the red sabre mark'd our way
Amidst their yielding bands.

Then, as they writh'd in death's cold grasp,
We cried, "Our choice is made,
These hands the sabre's hilt shall clasp,
Your hearts shall have the blade."

_Jaafer Ben Alba_.

[5] This poem and the one following it are both taken from the Hamasa
and afford curious instances of the animosity which prevailed
amongst the several Arabian clans, and of the rancor with which
they pursued each other, when once at variance.


VERSES TO MY ENEMIES

Why thus to passion give the rein?
Why seek your kindred tribe to wrong?
Why strive to drag to light again
The fatal feud entomb'd so long?

Think not, if fury ye display,