The Beduins have mounted their steeds, and afar
Their Cohorts advance in the proud ranks of war,
They have braced on the shield, and the sword by their side
And forth are they gone on a foray to ride.
On, on through the forest they gallop away,
Like the prowler that rushes in wrath on the prey;
At the clang of their steeds, and the clash of their arm,
The owl and the tiger will start in alarm.
O'er hill, and o'er valley they ride with the blast,
Ah! blood shall soon mark where those footsteps have past,
Like the lightning they come, like the lightning they go,
To work out destruction and slaughter and woe.
For the right of their chieftain the broad-sword they draw,
Revenge is their leader, and vengeance their law;
And reckless alike of disgrace or renown,
Their highest ambition's to crush the foe down.
Ah, soon will those hills with the thunder be riven,
And soon will the proud steed to battle be driven,
The smoke of the village, and shrieks of the prey,
Shall yield to stern war the red spoil of decay.