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About this Poem 

From Ballads and Songs (London: Cassell and Company, 1896).


Abd-El-Kader at Toulon


 No more, thou lithe and long-winged hawk, of desert-life for thee;
  No more across the sultry sands shalt thou go swooping free:
  Blunt idle talons, idle beak, with spurning of thy chain,
  Shatter against thy cage the wing thou ne'er may'st spread again.

  Long, sitting by their watchfires, shall the Kabyles tell the tale
  Of thy dash from Ben Halifa on the fat Metidja vale;
  How thou swept'st the desert over, bearing down the wild El Riff,
  From eastern Beni Salah to western Ouad Shelif;

  How thy white burnous welit streaming, like the storm-rack o'er the sea,
  When thou rodest in the vanward of the Moorish chivalry;
  How thy razzia was a whirlwind, thy onset a simoom,
  How thy sword-sweep was the lightning, dealing death from out the gloom!

  Nor less quick to slay in battle than in peace to spare and save,
  Of brave men wisest councillor, of wise councillors most brave;
  How the eye that flashed destruction could beam gentleness and love,
  How lion in thee mated lamb, how eagle mated dove!

  Availéd not or steel or shot 'gainst that charmed life secure,
  Till cunning France, in last resource, tossed up the golden lure;
  And the carrion buzzards round him stooped, faithless, to the cast,
  And the wild hawk of the desert is caught and caged at last.

  Weep, maidens of Zerifah, above the laden loom!
  Scar, chieftains of Al Elmah, your cheeks in grief and gloom!
  Sons of the Beni Snazam, throw down the useless lance,
  And stoop your necks and bare your backs to yoke and scourge of France!

  Twas not in fight they bore him down; he never cried amàn;
  He never sank his sword before the PRINCE OF FRANGHISTAN;
  But with traitors all around him, his star upon the wane,
  He heard the voice of ALLAH, and he would not strive in vain.

  They gave him what he asked them; from king to king he spake,
  As one that plighted word and seal not knoweth how to break;
  "Let me pass from out my deserts, be't mine own choice where to go,
  I brook no fettered life to live, a captive and a show."

  And they promised, and he trusted them, and proud and calm he came,
  Upon his black mare riding, girt with his sword of fame.
  Good steed, good sword, he rendered both unto the Frankish throng;
  He knew them false and fickle—but a Prince's word is strong.

  How have they kept their promise?  Turned they the vessel's prow
  Unto Acre, Alexandria, as they have sworn e'en now?
  Not so: from Oran northwards the white sails gleam and glance,
  And the wild hawk of the desert is borne away to France!

  Where Toulon's white-walled lazaret looks southward o'er the wave,
  Sits he that trusted in the word a son of Louis gave.
  O noble faith of noble heart!  And was the warning vain,
  The text writ by the BOURBON in the blurred black book of Spain?

  They have need of thee to gaze on, they have need of thee to grace
  The triumph of the Prince, to gild the pinchbeck of their race.
  Words are but wind, conditions must be construed by GUIZOT;
  Dash out thy heart, thou desert hawk, ere thou art made a show!

This poem is in the public domain. 

This poem is in the public domain. 

William Makepeace Thackeray

William Makepeace Thackeray, born July 18, 1811, was an English writer best known for his novels, particularly The History of Henry Esmond, Esq. (The Mershon Company Publishers, 1852) and Vanity Fair (Bradbury and Evans, 1848). While in school, Thackeray began writing poems, which he published in a number of magazines, chiefly Fraser and Punch. He died on December 24, 1863.

by this poet

  KING CANUTE was weary hearted; he had reigned for years a score,
  Battling, struggling, pushing, fighting, killing much and robbing more;
  And he thought upon his actions, walking by the wild sea-shore.

  'Twixt the Chancellor and Bishop walked the King with steps sedate,
  Chamberlains and grooms came
  Untrue to my Ulric I never could be,
  I vow by the saints and the blessed Marie,
  Since the desolate hour when we stood by the shore,
  And your dark galley waited to carry you o'er:
  My faith then I plighted, my love I confess'd,
  As I gave you the BATTLE-AXE marked with your crest!

  When the bold
    Fair, and young, and witty,
  What has brought your ladyship
    Rambling to the City?

  All the Stags in Capel Court
    Saw her lightly trip it;
  All the lads of Stock Exchange
    Twigg'd her muff and tippet.

  With a sweet perplexity,
    And a mystery pretty,