ON THE BATTLE OF SABLA

BY JAAFER BEN ALBA.

Translated into English Verse by J. D. Carlyle, BD

Sabla, thou saw'st th' exulting foe

   In fancied triumphs crowned;

 Thou heard'st their frantic females throw

   These galling taunts around:

Make now your choice--the terms we give,

   Desponding victims, hear:

 These fetters on your hands receive,

   Or in your hearts the spear."

"And is the conflict o'er?" we cried;

   "And lie we at your feet?

 And dare you vauntingly decide

   The fortune we must meet?

"A brighter day we soon shall see,

   Though now the prospect lowers;

 And conquest, peace, and liberty

   Shall gild our future hours."

The foe advanced;--in firm array

   We rushed o'er Sabla's sands;

 And the red sabre marked our way

   Amidst their yielding bands.

Then, as they writhed in Death's cold grasp,

   We cried, "Our choice is made:

 These hands the sabres' hilt shall clasp,

   Your hearts shall have the blade!"