In fancied triumphs crown'd;
Thou heard'st their frantic females throw
These galling taunts around:--

"Make now your choice--the terms we give,
Desponding victims, hear;
These fetters on your hands receive,
Or in your hearts the spear."

"And is the conflict o'er," we cried,
"And lie we at your feet?
And dare you vauntingly decide
The fortune we must meet?

"A brighter day we soon shall see,
Tho' now the prospect lowers,
And conquest, peace, and liberty
Shall gild our future hours."

The foe advanc'd:--in firm array
We rush'd o'er Sabla's sands,
And the red sabre mark'd our way
Amidst their yielding bands.

Then, as they writh'd in death's cold grasp,
We cried, "Our choice is made,
These hands the sabre's hilt shall clasp,
Your hearts shall have the blade."

_Jaafer Ben Alba_.

[5] This poem and the one following it are both taken from the Hamasa
and afford curious instances of the animosity which prevailed
amongst the several Arabian clans, and of the rancor with which
they pursued each other, when once at variance.

VERSES TO MY ENEMIES

Why thus to passion give the rein?
Why seek your kindred tribe to wrong?
Why strive to drag to light again
The fatal feud entomb'd so long?

Think not, if fury ye display,
But equal fury we can deal;
Hope not, if wrong'd, but we repay
Revenge for every wrong we feel.

Why thus to passion give the rein?
Why seek the robe of peace to tear?
Rash youths desist, your course restrain,
Or dread the wrath ye blindly dare.

Yet friendship we not ask from foes,
Nor favor hope from you to prove,
We lov'd you not, great Allah knows,
Nor blam'd you that ye could not love.

To each are different feelings given,
This slights, and that regards his brother;
'Tis ours to live--thanks to kind heav'n--
Hating and hated by each other.

_Alfadhel Ibn Alabas_.

ON HIS FRIENDS[6]

With conscious pride I view the band
Of faithful friends that round me stand,
With pride exult that I alone
Can join these scatter'd gems in one:--
For they're a wreath of pearls, and I
The silken cord on which they lie.

'Tis mine their inmost souls to see,
Unlock'd is every heart to me,
To me they cling, on me they rest,
And I've a place in every breast:--
For they're a wreath of pearls, and I
The silken cord on which t