"That rebel fiend, whose blade has spread
"My path with piles of Moslem dead,
"Whose baffling spells had almost driven
"Back from their course the Swords of Heaven,
"This night, with all his band shall know
"How deep an Arab's steel can go,
"When God and Vengeance speed the blow,
"And-Prophet!-by that holy wreath
"Thou wor'st on ОHOD's field of death,*
"I swear, that every sob that parts
"In anguish from these heathen hearts,
"A gem from PERSIA'S plunder'd mines
"Shall glitter on thy Shrine of Shrines.
But, ha!-she sinks-that look so wild-
"Those livid lips-my child, my child,
"This life of blood befits not thee,
"And thou must back to ARABY.
"Ne'er had I risk'd thy timid sex
"In scenes that man himself might dread,
"Had I not hop'd our every tread
"Would be on prostrate Persian necks-
"Curst race they offer swords instead!
"But cheer thee, maid,-the wind, that now
"Is blowing o'er thy feverish brow,
"To-day shall waft thee from the shore;
"And, e'er a drop of this night's gore
"Have time to chill in yonder towers,
"Thou❜lt see thy own sweet Arab bowers!"
His bloody boast was all too true-
There lurk'd one wretch among the few
Whom HAFED's eagle eye could count
Around him on that Fiery Mount,-
One miscreant, who for gold betray'd
The path-way through the valley's shade
"Mohammed had two helmets, an interior and exterior one; the latter of which, called Al Mawashah, the fillet, wreath, or wreathed garland, he wore at the battle of Ohod."-Universal History.
To those high towers, where Freedom stood
In her last hold of flame and blood.
Left on the field last dreadful night,
When, sallying from their Sacred Height,
The Ghebers fought hope's farewell fight,
He lay-but died not with the brave;
That sun, which should have gilt his grave,
Saw him a traitor and a slave;-
And, while the few, who thence return'd
To their high rocky fortress, mourn'd
For him among the matchless dead
They left behind on glory's bed,
He liv'd, and, in the face of morn!
Laugh'd them and Faith and Heaven to scorn.
Oh for a tongue to curse the slave,
Whose treason, like a deadly blight,
Comes o'er the councils of the brave,
And blasts them in their hour of might!
May Life's unblessed cup for him
Be drugg'd with treacheries to the brim,-
With hopes, that but allure to fly,
With joys, that vanish while he sips,
Like Dead-Sea fruits, that tempt the eye,
But turn to ashes on the lips!
His country's curse, his children's shame,
Outcast of virtue, peace and fame,
May he, at last, with lips of flame
On the parch'd desert thirsting die,-
While lakes, that shone in mockery nigh
Are fading off, untouch'd, untasted,
Like the once glorious hopes he blasted!
And, when from earth his spirit flies,
Just Prophet, let the damn'd-one dwell
Full in the sight of Paradise,
Beholding heaven, and feeling hell!
LALLA ROOKH had had a dream the night before, which, in spite of the impending fate of poor HAFED, made her heart more than usually cheerful during the morning, and gave her cheeks all the freshened animation of a flower that the Bidmusk had just passed over. She fancied that she was sailing on that Eastern Ocean, where the seagipsies, who live for ever on the water, enjoy a perpetual summer in wandering from isle to isle, when she saw a small gilded bark approaching her. It was like one of those boats which the Maldivian islanders annually send adrift, at the mercy of winds and waves, loaded with perfumes, flowers, and odoriferous wood, as an offering to the Spirit whom they call King of the Sea. At first, this little bark appeared to be empty, but, on coming nearer
She had prooceded thus far in relating the dream to her Ladies, when FERAMORZ appeared at the door of the pavilion. In his presence, of course, every thing else was forgotten, and the continuance of the story was instantly requested by all. Fresh wood of aloes was set to burn in the cassolets; -the violet sherbets were hastily handed round, and after a short prelude on his lute, in the pathetic measure of Nava, which is always used to express the lamentations of absent lovers, the Poet thus continued:
THE day is lowering-stilly black
Sleeps the grim wave, while heaven's rack,
Dispers'd and wild, 'twixt earth and sky
Hangs like a shatter'd canopy!
There's not a cloud in that blue plain
But tells of storm to come or past;-
Here, flying loosely as the mane
Of a young war-horse in the blast;
There, roll'd in masses dark and swelling,
As proud to be the thunder's dwelling!
While some, already burst and riven,
Seem melting down the verge of heaven;
As though the infant storm had rent
The mighty womb that gave him birth,
And, having swept the firmament,
Was now in fierce career for earth.
On earth 'twas yet all calm around,
A pulseless silence, dread, profound,
More awful than the tempest's sound.
The diver steer'd for ORMUS' bowers,
And moor'd his skiff till calmer hours;
The sea-birds with portentous screech,
Flew fast to land;-upon the beach
The pilot oft had paus'd, with glance
Turn'd upward to that wild expanse;
And all was boding, drear, and dark
As her own soul, when HINDA's bark
Went slowly from the Persian shore-
No music tim'd her parting oar,*
Nor friends upon the lessening strand
Linger'd, to wave the unseen hand,
Or speak the farewell, heard no more-
But lone, unheeded, from the bay
The vessel takes its mournful way,
"The Easterns used to set out on their longer voyages with music."-Harmer.
Like some ill-destin'd bark that steers
In silence through the Gate of Tears.*
And where was stern AL HASSAN then?
Could not that saintly scourge of men
From bloodshed and devotion spare
One minute for a farewell there?
No-close within, in changeful fits
Of cursing and of prayer, he sits
In savage loneliness to brood
Upon the coming night of blood,
With that keen, second-scent of death,
By which the vulture snuffs his food
In the still warm and living breath!+ While o'er the wave his weeping daughter Is wafted from these scenes of slaughter,As a young bird of BABYLON,
Let loose to tell of victory won,
Flies home, with wing, ah! not unstain'd
By the red hands that held her chain'd.
And does the long-left home she seeks
Light up no gladness on her cheeks ?
The flowers she nurs'd-the well-known groves,
Where oft in dreams her spirit roves-
Once more to see her dear gazelles
Come bounding with their silver bells;
Her birds' new plumage to behold,
"The Gate of Tears, the straits or passage into the Red Sea, commonly called Babelmandel. It received this name from the old Arabians, on account of the danger of the navigation, and the number of shipwrecks by which it was distinguished; which induced them to consider as dead, and to wear mourning for all who had the boldness to hazard the passage through it into the Ethiopic ocean."-Richardson.
"I have been told that whensoever an animal falls down dead, one or more vultures, unseen before, instantly appear." ."-Pennant.
"They fasten some writing to the wings of a Bagdat, or Babylonian pigeon."-Travels of certain Englishmen.
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