THE WATCHERS.
Reading edition
ILLUSTRATION OF A PICTURE.
Sultana! Sultana! thy watch is in vain—
With the sun that is setting in gloom o’er the main
The empire from Selim is passing away:
Ho! up with Mustapha! Death waits on delay!
The morning that broke on the spires of Salles
Saw his ships ride triumphant upon the blue sea;
But the foam of the waves, ere the noon, was made red
With the blood of the wounded, the dying and dead.
They came from the mountains, as sand on the gale
That sweeps o’er Zahara, his throne to assail;
The fierce Otazi and the stern Almohade
Were kind, to the war-bands that follow El Said.
The courser of Selim flies wild o’er the plain,
His flag on the seas shall ne’er flutter again;
The reign of the son of Mohammed is o’er,
And thine eyes shall delight in his presence no more!
Then bind up thy tresses and dash from thine eyes
The tear that betokens distrust of the skies;
Nor deem that around thee one spirit’s so poor
As to bend to a sceptre not swayed by a Moor.
Away with thy watching! the son of thy lord
Of the chiefs of Morocco is monarch and ward!
Give him into their hands! bid them think of his sire,
And his safety, their triumph—shall crown each desire!