Dragut

"O swiftly, very swiftly, they up the Straits have gone,
O swiftly flies the corsair, and swift the cross comes on,
The cross upon yon banner, that streams to the breeze,
It is the sign of victory, the cross of the Malteze.

"Row, row, my slaves," quoth Dragut, "the knights, the knights are near,
Row, row, my slaves, row swiftly, the star-light is too clear,
The stars they are too bright, and he that means us well,
He harms us when he trims his light—yon Moorish centinel."—

There came a wreath of smoke from out a culverine,
The corsair's poop it broke, and it sunk in the brine;
Stout Dragut swims ashore, but many a one goes down;
Down goes the fetter'd Christian with the servant of Mahoun.

But one of Dragut's captives, a happy man is he,
The Christian sailors see him struggling in the sea,
They hear the captive praying in the Christian tongue,
And a rope from the galley they down to him have flung.

It was a Spanish knight, who had long been in Algiers,
From ladies high descended, and noble cavaliers,
But forced, for a season, a false Moor's slave to be,
Upon the shore his gardener, and his galley-slave on the sea.

But now his heart is dancing, he sees the Spanish land,
And all his friends advancing to meet him on the strand.—
His heart was full of gladness, but his eyes they ran o'er,
For he wept as he stepp'd upon the Christian shore.