Page:Poetical Remains.pdf/161

The dreams of rest were on me, and I lay
Shrouded in slumber's mantle, as within
The chambers of the dead. Who saved me then,
When the Pard, soundless as the midnight, stole
Soft on the sleeper? Whose keen dart transfixed
The monarch of the solitudes? I woke,
And saw thy javelin crimsoned with his blood,
Thou, my deliverer! and my heart e'en then
Called thee its brother.

Sebast.For that gift of life
With one of tenfold price, even freedom's self,
Thou hast repaid me well.

Zamor.Then bid me not
Forsake thee! Though my father's tents may rise
At times upon my spirit, yet my home
Shall be amidst thy mountains, Prince, and thou
Shalt be my chief, until I see thee robed
With all thy power. When thou canst need no more
Thine Arab's faithful heart and vigorous arm,
From the green regions of the setting sun