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There, whispering soft to the meek as they sleep,
Here, frowning darkly on robbers that creep
Forth in the midnight, dividing their prey —
Do ye not sorrow to turn you away
Thus, from the dwelling of peace, to the shore
Echoing with tumult and strife evermore —
Hither, where hearts through their pride have grown
cold,
Shrivelled and seared by the lust after gold ?
Oh, not the brightness, that Israel's way
Guided in glory by night and by day,
Fired him with courage unflinching to bear
Pains that here lightly for Mammon they dare !
Man's eager hand from that glittering fleece
Fear cannot hold, nor sweet pity release !
Yet will we follow where Melleff, the slave,
Pineth for home, and imploreth a grave.
Behold Tunisia's towers once more,
See through her Gate of Plenty pour
