"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!
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