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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=538119" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Sheik Of Sinai In 1830</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Lift me without the tent, I say,-<br>Me and my ottoman,-<br>I'll see the messenger myself!<br>It is the caravan<br>From Africa, thou sayest,<br>And they bring us news of war?<br>Draw me without the tent, and quick!<br>As at the desert well<br>The freshness of the purling brook<br>Delights the tired gazelle,<br>So pant I for the voice of him<br>That cometh from afar!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>II.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Scheik was lifted from his tent,<br>And thus outspake the Moor:-<br>'I saw, old Chief, the Tricolor<br>On Algiers' topmost tower-<br>Upon its battlements the silks<br>Of Lyons flutter free.<br>Each morning, in the market-place,<br>The muster-drum is beat,<br>And to the war-hymn of Marseilles<br>The squadrons pace the street.<br>The armament from Toulon sailed:<br>The Franks have crossed the sea.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>III.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Towards the south, the columns marched<br>Beneath a cloudless sky:<br>Their weapons glittered in the blaze<br>Of the sun of Barbary;<br>And with the dusty desert sand<br>Their horses' manes were white.<br>The wild marauding tribes dispersed<br>In terror of their lives;<br>They fled unto the mountains<br>With their children and their wives,<br>And urged the clumsy dromedary<br>Up the Atlas' height.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>IV.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'The Moors have ta'en their vantage-ground,<br>The volleys thunder fast-<br>The dark defile is blazing<br>Like a heated oven-blast;<br>The lion hears the strange turmoil,<br>And leaves his mangled prey-<br>No place was that for him to feed;<br>And thick and loud the cries,<br>Feu!-Allah! Allah!-En avant!<br>In mingled discord rise;<br>The Franks have reached the summit-<br>They have won the victory!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>V.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'With bristling steel, upon the top<br>The victors take their stand:<br>Beneath their feet, with all its towns,<br>They see the promised land-<br>From Tunis, even unto Fez,<br>From Atlas to the seas.<br>The cavaliers alight to gaze,<br>And gaze full well they may,<br>Where countless minarets stand up<br>So solemnly and gray,<br>Amidst the dark-green masses<br>Of the flowering myrtle-trees.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>VI.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'The almond blossoms in the vale;<br>The aloe from the rock<br>Throws out its long and prickly leaves,<br>Nor dreads the tempest's shock:<br>A blessed land, I ween, is that,<br>Though luckless is its Bey.<br>There lies the sea-beyond lies France!<br>Her banners in the air<br>Float proudly and triumphantly-<br>A salvo! come, prepare!<br>And loud and long the mountains rang<br>With that glad artillery.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>VII.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">''Tis they!' exclaimed the aged Scheik.<br>'I've battled by their side-<br>I fought beneath the Pyramids!<br>That day of deathless pride-<br>Red as thy turban, Moor, that eve,<br>Was every creek in Nile!<br>But tell me-' and he griped his hand-<br>'Their Sultaun. Stranger, say-<br>His form-his face-his posture, man?<br>Thou saw'st him in the fray?<br>His eye-what wore he?' But the Moor<br>Sought in his vest awhile.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>VIII.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Their Sultaun, Scheik, remains at home<br>Within his palace walls:<br>He sends a Pasha in his stead<br>To brave the bolts and balls.<br>He was not there. An Aga burst<br>For him through Atlas' hold.<br>Yet I can show thee somewhat too.<br>A Frankish Cavalier<br>Told me his effigy was stamped<br>Upon this medal here-<br>He gave me with others<br>For an Arab steed I sold.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>IX.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The old man took the golden coin:<br>Gazed steadfastly awhile,<br>If that could be the Sultaun<br>Whom from the banks of Nile<br>He guided o'er the desert path-<br>Then sighed and thus spake he-<br>''Tis not <br>his<br>eye-'tis not <br>his<br>brow-<br>Another face is there:<br>I never saw this man before-<br>His head is like a pear!<br>Take back thy medal, Moor-'tis not<br>That which I hoped to see.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Edmondstoune+Aytoun">William Edmondstoune Aytoun</a><div class=q>
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'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 pu..."></div>
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