The Poetical Works of William Motherwell/The Ship of the Desert
The Ship of the Desert.
'Onward, my Camel!—On, though slow;
Halt not upon these fatal sands!
Onward my constant Camel go—
The fierce Simoom hath ceased to blow,
We soon shall tread green Syria's lands!
'Droop not my faithful Camel! Now
The hospitable well is near!
Though sick at heart, and worn in brow,
I grieve the most to think that thou
And I may part, kind comrade, here!
'O'er the dull waste a swelling mound—
A verdant paradise—I see;
The princely date-palms there abound,
And springs that make it sacred ground
To pilgrims like to thee and me!'
The patient Camel's filmy eye,
All lustreless, is fixed in death!
Beneath the sun of Araby
The desert wanderer ceased to sigh,
Exhausted on its burning path.
Then rose upon the Wilderness
The solitary Driver's cry:
Thoughts of his home upon him press,
As, in his utter loneliness,
He sees his burden-bearer die.
Hope gives no echo to his call—
Ne'er from his comrade will he sever!
The red sky is his funeral pall;
A prayer—a moan—'tis over, all—
Camel and lord now rest for ever!
A three hour's journey from the spring
Loved of the panting Caravan—
Within a little sandy ring—
The Camel's bones lie whitening,
With thine, old, unlamented man!