When we lie at dead of night,
Looking up to heaven's light,
Hearing but the watchman's tone
Faintly chanting "God is one,"[24]
Oh what thoughts then o'er us come
Of our distant village home,
Where that chant when evening sets
Sounds from all the minarets.
Cheer thee!--soon shall signal lights,
Kindling o'er the Red Sea heights,
Kindling quick from man to man,
Hail our coming caravan:[25]
Think what bliss that hour will be!
Looks of home again to see,
And our names again to hear
Murmured out by voices dear.
* * * * *
So past the desert dream away,
Fleeting as his who heard this lay,
Nor long the pause between, nor moved
The spell-bound audience from that spot;
While still as usual Fancy roved
On to the joy that yet was not;--
Fancy who hath no present home,
But builds her bower in scenes to come,
Walking for ever in a light
That flows from regions out of sight.
But see by gradual dawn descried
A mountain realm-rugged as e'er
Upraised to heaven its summits bare,
Or told to earth with frown of pride
That Freedom's falcon nest was there,
Too high for hand of lord or king
To hood her brow, or chain her wing.
'Tis Maina's land--her ancient hills,
The abode of nymphs--her countless rills
And torrents in their downward dash
Shining like silver thro' the shade
Of the sea-pine and flowering ash--
All with a truth so fresh portrayed
As wants but touch of life to be
A world of warm reality.
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