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Translated by J. D. Carlyle
SABLA, thou saw’st the exulting foe, | |
| In fancied triumph crowned; | |
| Thou heard’st their frantic females throw | |
| These galling taunts around. | |
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| “Make now your choice; the terms we give, | 5 |
| Desponding victims, hear: | |
| These fetters on your hands receive, | |
| Or in your hearts the spear.” | |
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| “And is the conflict o’er,” we cried, | |
| “And lie we at your feet? | 10 |
| And dare you vauntingly decide | |
| The fortune we must meet? | |
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| “A brighter day we soon shall see, | |
| Though now the prospect lowers, | |
| And conquest, peace, and liberty | 15 |
| Shall yield our future hours.” | |
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| The foe advanced: in firm array | |
| We rushed o’er Sabla’s sands; | |
| And the red sabre marked our way | |
| Amidst their yielding bands. | 20 |
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| Then, as they writhed in death’s cold grasp, | |
| We cried, “Our choice is made: | |
| These hands the sabre’s hilt shall clasp, | |
| Your hearts shall have the blade.” | |
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