The glazed and heavy orbs, grown dim,
Seemed in a pool of blood to swim ;
A fiery current coursed each vein,
With quick, hot throbbings beat his brain,
Bewildered thought from side to side
Flew hurriedly, but nought descried
Save threatening phantoms of distress,
Then sank to dark unconsciousness.
Around the sleeper all is life.
Command, and curse, and quarrel rife.
The Bey's green tents are pitched in haste,
With care mats, skins and cushions placed.
But for the rest, a single man
Alone of all the caravan
May claim such comforts — the Khrebir,
The leader whom they all revere —
For well they know the proverb wise,
That thus the Arab doth advise :
'If thou must needs a journey make.
Then to thyself companions take.