Lines (Forth from the Saracen's far land)

Forth from the Saracen's far landA Moorish Princess rode,Her fair foot touched the English strand.On English soil she trod—The foreign language met her earUnheeded and unknown,For oh! her heart by love was tunedTo one fond word alone—

Her lover's name!—through crowds she went,The crowds she heeded not,His name with every air was blent,In every changing spot—"Gilbert!" her sweet lips cried, and thenDid thousands press around,And wondering gazed, until againShe uttered that loved sound.

And "Gilbert! Gilbert!" still the windBears on each varying gale,Street after street she walks resigned,With stedfast cheek and pale.—Her lovely hair streams on the breeze,Sore are her gentle feet,And yet she stays not till she seesThe face she dies to meet.

Is it a dream?—that manly brow,That mien of youthful pride,Which flies from all that charms it now,And rushes to her side;Which folds her to that noble breast,And gently dries her tears,And takes her to a home of rest,And soothes away her fears;

—Which leads her to his kindred's arms,Even as his own, his bride,And asks of all her fond alarmsAmidst her wanderings wide—And blesses her, as doubly dear,Through toil and danger his,Who, for his sake, despised all fear,And bore all miseries?

His name her only talisman,How proudly did he smile,To hear how it had led her onThrough all the sea-girt Isle.—And oh! how gratefully he raisedHis soul to heaven above, And thatAlmighty Guardian praised,Who thus had saved his love!