Farewell said Abdallah, one day,
To sweet Zelma o'er-clouded with woe;
The caravan hastens away,
And your poor camel-driver must go.
Ah! safe o'er the desert and sands that burn,
Soon, soon to his love may Abdallah return,
Soon to his love may Abdallah return.
He sigh'd as he kiss'd off each tear,
And Zelma he left all forlorn;
And over the desart [sic]so drear,
The poor camel-driver is gone.
The fierce Arab he met on the sands that burn,
And no more to his love shall Abdallah return.
Her eyes, like the heavens so blue,
Where the tear like a diamond drop stood;
In vain o'er the desart [sic] she threw,
Then turn'd o'er her sorrows to brood,
And her tears shall quench sooner the sands that burn,
Ere more to his love shall Abdallah return!