Literary Gazette, 3rd September, 1825, Page 572-573
ORIGINAL POETRY.
THE AVENGER.
It is customary among many of the Arab tribes, when
a chief is slain, to preserve his sandals, which are given
to his son or nearest kinsman when of age, to avenge his
death.
Upon these sandals there is blood—
It was not poured in battle flood;
It was not shed in open fight,
With God and man to judge the right;
It came not from the courser's flank,
Spurred foremost in the foremost rank:—
It was pour'd by a hidden foe,
It was shed by a dagger's blow;
It was night hid the assassin's art,
And it came from thy father's heart.
Here is his sabre's shining length,
Have thou with it his arm of strength!
Young Arab, yonder is thy steed,
And Alla help thee at thy need.
The boy rose up, and deadly thought
Across his cold pale forehead wrought:
There was red shame upon his cheek,
For much he feared his arm was weak;
And thrice that arm in vain essay'd
To lift and poise his father's blade.
’Twas but a moment's pause—he swung
The blade across—to horse he sprung:
Away, away, not long the wind
Brought echoes of his speed behind.
Now curses be upon the hand
That smote not with the warrior's brand;
And curses on the dastard foe
Who let the night conceal his blow:
Desolate be his place of birth,
Desolate be his silent hearth;
To him let earth refuse her food;
Shrink from his burning lip the flood;
To him let morning bring no dew
His wasted vigour to renew;
And let the placid night deny
To him the quiet of her sky;
Let him be childless; like the reed
Be his friends in the hour of need;
