Won from his native sunbeams. I have known
Too much of this, and would not see another
Thus daily die. If it be so with thee,
My gentle Zamor, speak. Behold, our bark
Yet, with her white sails catching sunset's glow,
Lies within signal reach. If it be thus,
Then fare thee well, farewell, thou brave, and true,
And generous friend! How often is our path
Crossed by some being whose bright spirit sheds
A passing gladness o'er it, but whose course
Leads down another current, never more
To blend with ours! Yet far within our souls,
Amidst the rushing of the busy world,
Dwells many a secret thought, which lingers yet
Around that image. And e'en so, kind Zamor,
Shalt thou be long remembered!
Zamor. By the fame
Of my brave sire, whose deeds the warrior tribes
Tell round the desert's watch fire, at the hour
Of silence, and of coolness, and of stars,
I will not leave thee. 'Twas in such an hour
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.
