Song

Away! though still thy sword is red
With life-blood from my sire,
No drop of thine may now be shed
To quench my bosom’s fire;
Though on my heart ’twould fall more blest
Than dews upon the desert’s breast.

I’ve sought thee midst the sons of men,
Through the wide city’s fanes;
I’ve sought thee by the lion’s den,
O’er pathless, boundless plains;
No step that mark’d the burning waste,
But mine its lonely course hath traced.

Thy name hath been a baleful spell,
O’er my dark spirit cast;
No thought may dream, no words may tell,
What there unseen hath pass’d:
This wither’d cheek, this faded eye,
Are seals of thee--behold! and fly!

Hath not my cup for thee been pour’d
Beneath the palm-tree’s shade?
Hath not soft sleep thy frame restored
Within my dwelling laid?
What though unknown--yet who shall rest
Secure--if not the Arab’s guest?

Haste thee! and leave my threshold-floor
Inviolate and pure!
Let not thy presence tempt me more,
--Man may not thus endure!
Away! I bear a fetter’d arm,
A heart that burns--but must not harm.

Begone! outstrip the swift gazelle!
The wind in speed subdue!
Fear cannot fly so swift, so well,
As vengeance shall pursue;
And hate, like love in parting pain,
Smiles o’er one hope--we meet again!

To-morrow--and th’ avenger’s hand,
The warrior’s dart is free!
E’en now, no spot in all thy land,
Save this, had shelter’d thee;
Let blood the monarch’s hall profane,--
The Arab’s tent must bear no stain!

Fly! may the desert’s fiery blast
Avoid thy secret way!
And sternly, till thy steps be past,
Its whirlwinds sleep to-day!
I would not that thy doom should be
Assign’d by heaven to aught but me.