The Arab's Address To His Horse Poem by Anonymous British

'Away, away, my barb and I,'
As free as wave, as fleet as wind,
We sweep the sands of Araby,
And leave a world of slaves behind.

'Tis mine to range in this wild garb,
Nor e'er feel lonely though alone;
I would not change my Arab barb,
To mount a drowsy Sultan's throne.

Where the pale stranger dares not come,
Proud o'er my native sands I rove;
An Arab tent my only home,
An Arab maid my only love.

Here freedom dwells without a fear—
Coy to the world, she loves the wild;
Whoever brings a fetter here,
To chain the desert's fiery child.

What though the Frank may name with scorn,
Our barren clime, our realm of sand,
There were our thousand fathers born-
Oh, who would scorn his father's land?

It is not sands that form a waste,
Nor laughing fields a happy clime;
The spot, the most by Freedom graced,
Is where a man feels most sublime!

'Away, away, my barb and I.'
As free as wave as fleet as wind,
We sweep the sands of Araby,
And leave a world of slaves behind!