Billeder på siden

66 On, Swords of God !” the panting Caliph calls, “ Thrones for the living-Heav'n for him who falls !”— " On, brave avengers, on,” MOKANNA cries, “ And Eblis blast the recreant slave that flies !" Now comes the brunt, the crisis of the day They clash — they strive — the Caliph's troops give

way! Mokanna's self plucks the black Banner down, And now the Orient World's imperial crown Is just within his grasp — when, hark, that shout! Some hand hath check'd the flying Moslems' rout, And now they turn — they rally — at their head A warrior, (like those angel youths, who led, In glorious panoply of heav'n's own mail, The Champions of the Faith through BEDER’s vale,), Bold as if gifted with ten thousand lives, Turns on the fierce pursuers' blades, and drives At once the multitudinous torrent back, While hope and courage kindle in his track, And, at each step, his bloody falchion makes Terrible vistas through which victory breaks !

9 In the great victory gained by Mahomed at Beder, he was assisted, say the Mussulmans, by three thousand angels, led by Gabriel, mounted on his horse Hiazum V. The Koran and its Commentators.

In vain MOKANNĄ, midst the general flight,
Stands, like the red moon, on some stormy night,
Among the fugitive clouds that, hurrying by,
Leave only her unshaken in the sky ! -
In vain he yells his desperate curses out,
Deals death promiscuously to all about,
To foes that charge and coward friends that fly,
And seems of all the Great Arch-enemy!
The panic spreads — " a miracle !” throughout
The Moslem ranks, “ a miracle !” they shout,
All gazing on that youth, whose coming seems
A light, a glory, such as breaks in dreams ;
And every sword, true as o'er billows dim
The needle tracks the load-star, following him !

[ocr errors]

Right tow'rds MOKANNA now he cleaves his path, Impatient cleaves, as though the bolt of wrath He bears from Heav'n withheld its awful burst From weaker heads, and souls but half-way curst, To break o'er Him, the mightiest and the worst ! But vain his speed though, in that hour of blood, Had all God's seraphs round MOKANNA stood, With swords of fire, ready like fate to fall, MOKANNA's soul would have defied them all;

Yet now, the rush of fugitives, too strong
For human force, hurries ev'n him along;
In vain he struggles 'mid the wedg'd array
Of flying thousands, — he is borne away;
And the sole joy his baffled spirit knows
In this forc'd flight is — murdering, as he goes !
As a grim tiger, whom the torrent's might
Surprizes in some parch'd ravine at night,
Turns, ev'n in drowning, on the wretched flocks
Swept with him in that snow-flood from the rocks,
And, to the last, devouring on his way,
Bloodies the stream he hath not power to stay!

66 Alla illa Alla !” - the glad shout renew “ Alla Akbar !" ! — the Caliph's in MEROU. Hang out your gilded tapestry in the streets, And light your shrines and chaunt your ziraleets;' The Swords of God have triumph'd - on his throne Your Caliph sits, and the Veild Chief hath flown. Who does not envy that young warrior now, To whom the Lord of Islam bends his brow,

The Tecbir, or cry of the Arabs. “ Alla Acbar!” says Ockley, 's means God is most mighty."

2 The ziraleet is a kind of chorus, which the women of the East sing upon joyful, occasions. — Russel.

In all the graceful gratitude of power,
For his throne's safety in that perilous hour?
Who doth not wonder, when, amidst the’ acclaim
Of thousands, heralding to heaven his name-
'Mid all those holier harmonies of fame,
Which sound along the path of virtuous souls,
Like music round a planet as it rolls ! -
He turns away coldly, as if some gloom
Hung o'er his heart no triumphs can illume;-
Some sightless grief, upon whose blasted gaze
Though glory's light may play, in vain it plays !
Yes, wretched Azim ! thine is such a grief,
Beyond all hope, all terror, all relief;
A dark, cold calm, which nothing now can break,
Or warm or brighten, — like that Syrian Lake,”
Upon whose surface morn and summer shed
Their smiles in vain, for all beneath is dead ! -
Hearts there have been, o'er which this weight of woe
Came by long use of suffering, tame and slow;
But thine, lost youth! was sudden — over thee
It broke at once, when all seem'd extacy;

2 The Dead Sea, which contains neither animal nor vegetable


When Hope look'd up, and saw the gloomy Past
Melt into splendour, and Bliss dawn at last -
'Twas then, ev’n then, o'er joys so freshly blown,
This mortal blight of misery came down;
Ev’n then, the full, warm gushings of thy heart
Were check'd — like fount-drops, frozen as they start!
And there, like them, cold, sunless relics hang,
Each fix'd and chill'd into a lasting pang!

One sole desire, one passion now remains; To keep life's fever still within his veins, Vengeance ! — dire vengeance on the wretch who cast O’er him and all he lov'd that ruinous blast. For this, when rumours reach'd him in his flight Far, far away, after that fatal night, Rumours of armies, thronging to the attack Of the Veild Chief, — for this he wing'd him back, Fleet as the vulture speeds to flags unfurld, And came when all seem'd lost, and wildly hurld Himself into the scale, and sav'd a world ! For this he still lives on, careless of all The wreaths that glory on his path lets fall; For this alone exists — like lightning-fire To speed one bolt of vengeance, and expire !

« ForrigeFortsæt »