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I Have a steed, to leave behind
The wild bird, and the wilder wind :
I have a sword, which does not know
How to waste a second blow :
I have a matchlock, whose red breath
Bears the lightning's sudden death ;
I have a foot of fiery flight,
I have an eye that cleaves the night.
I win my portion in the land
By my high heart and strong right hand.
The starry heavens lit up the gloom
That lay around Al Herid's tomb ;
The wind was still, you might have heard
The falling leaf, the rustling bird ;
Yet no one heard my footstep fall,
None saw my shadow on the wall :
Yet curses came with morning's light,
Where was the gold they hid at night ?
Where was the gold they loved so well,
My heavy girdle best could tell !
Three travellers cross'd by yonder shrine ;
I saw their polish'd pistols shine,
And swore they were, or should be mine.
The first, his head was at my feet ;
The second I was glad to greet;
He met me like a man, his sword,
Damascus true, deserved its lord ;
Yet soon his heart's best blood ran red :
I sought the third—the slave hail fled.
I have a lovely mountain bower,
Where blooms a gentle Georgian flower ;
She was my spear's accustom'd prize,
The antelope hath not such eyes.
Now my sweet captive loves her lot,
What has a queen that she has not ?
Let her but wish for shawls or pearls,
To bind her brow, to braid her curls ;
And I from east to west would fly,
Ere she should ask and I deny.
But those rich merchants must be near,
Away, I cannot linger here ;
The vulture hovers o'er his prey,
Come, my good steed—away !—away !
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"Scene in Kattiawar" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 23 Sep. 2021. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/44094/scene-in-kattiawar>.