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115

THE CARAVAN.

He tried to speak — the figure fast
Melted away, and all was passed !

Day comes — not with a lingering foot,
As in the chill and misty North,
But suddenly its red beams shoot
Athwart the sky, and o'er the earth.
Then all is bustle in the camp,
Of man and beast a hurried tramp.
The camels groan with rage and pain
To feel the hated load again.
The driver's curse rings loud and clear ;
O'er all, the voice of the Khrebir,
Bidding the lagging line move on.
Ere the fresh morning hour be gone.
Now, through the fertile vale they wind.
But soon must leave its wealth behind.
To-day their toilsome journey leads
O'er arid sands, through rocky beds
Of torrents bare, so rough and steep,