A land of carcasses and slaves,

One dreary waste of chains and graves!~
Himself but lingering, dead at heart,

To see the last, long struggling breath
Of Liberty's great soul depart,

Then lay him down and share her deathEv'n he, so sunk in wretchedness,

With doom still darker gathering o'er him, Yet, in this moment's pure caress,

In the mild eyes that shone before him,
Beaming that blest assurance, worth
All other transports known on earth,
That he was lov'd-well, warmly lov'd-
Oh! in this precious hour he prov'd
How deep, how thorough-felt the glow
Of rapture, kindling out of woe;-
How exquisite one single drop
Of bliss, thus sparkling to the top
Of misery's cup-how keenly quaff'd,
Though death must follow on the draught!

She too, while gazing on those eyes
That sink into her soul so deep,
Forgets all fears, all miseries,

Or feels them like the wretch in sleep,
Whom fancy cheats into a smile,
Who dreams of joy, and sobs the while!
The mighty Ruins where they stood,
Upon the mount's high, rocky verge,
Lay open tow'rds the ocean flood,

Where lightly o'er the illumin'd surge
Many a fair bark that, all the day,
Had lurk'd in sheltering creek or bay
Now bounded on, and gave their sails,
Yet dripping, to the evening gales;
Like eagles, when the storm is done,
Spreading their wet wings in the sun.
The beauteous clouds, though daylight's Star
Had sunk behind the hills of LAR,

Were still with lingering glories bright,-
As if, to grace the gorgeous West,
The Spirit of departing Light
That eve had left his sunny vest
Behind him, ere he wing'd his flight.
Never was scene so form'd for love!"
Beneath them, waves of crystal move
In silent swell-Heav'n glows above,
And their pure hearts, to transport given,
Swell like the wave, and glow like heav'n!

But ah! too soon that dream is past-
Again, again her fear returns;—
Night, dreadful night, is gathering fast,
More faintly the horizon burns,
And every rosy tint that lay

On the smooth sea hath died away.
Hastily to the darkening skies

A glance she casts-then widely cries
"At night, he said-and look, 'tis near-
"Fly, fly-if yet thou lov'st me, fly-
"Soon will his murderous band be here,
"And I shall see thee bleed and die.-
"Hush! heard'st thou not the tramp of men
"Sounding from yonder fearful glen ?--
"Perhaps ev'n now they climb the wood-

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Fly, fly-though still the West is bright, "He'll come-oh! yes-he wants thy blood"I know him-he'll not wait for night!"

In terrors ev'n to agony

She clings around the wondering Chief; — "Alas, poor wilder'd maid! to me

"Thou ow'st this raving trance of grief. "Lost as I am, nought ever grew

66

"Beneath my shade but perish'd too-
My doom is like the Dead Sea air,
"And nothing lives that enters there!

66

Why were our barks together driven "Beneath this morning's furious heaven? Why, when I saw the prize that chance "Had thrown into my desperate arms,→→ "When, casting but a single glance

"Upon thy pale and prostrate charms, "I vow'd (though watching viewless o'er "Thy safety through that hour's alarms) "To meet th' unmanning sight no moreWhy have I broke that heart-wrung vow? Why weakly, madly met thee now? "Start not-that noise is but the shock "Of torrents through yon valley hurl'd"Dread nothing here-upon this rock "We stand above the jarring world, "Alike beyond its hope-its dread"In gloomy safety, like the Dead! "Or, could ev'n earth and hell unite "In league to storm this Sacred Height, "Fear nothing thou-myself, to-night, And each o'erlooking star that dwells Near God will be thy sentinels ;"And, ere to-morrow's dawn shall glow, "Back to thy sire

66

"To-morrow!-no-"

The maiden scream'd-" thou'lt never see "To-morrow's sun-death, death will be "The night-cry through each reeking tower, "Unless we fly, ay, fly this hour!

"Thou art betray'd-some wretch who knew "That dreadful glen's mysterious clew"Nay, doubt not-by yon stars, 'tis true"Has sold thee to my vengeful sire; "This morning, with that smile so dire "He wears in joy, he told me all,

"And stamp'd in triumph through our hall, "As though thy heart already beat

66 Its last life-throb beneath his feet!

"Good Heav'n, how little dream'd I then
"His victim was my own lov'd youth !—
"Fly-send-let some one watch the glen-
"By all my hopes of heaven 'tis truth!"

Oh! colder than the wind that freezes
Founts, that but now in sunshine play'd,
Is that congealing pang which seizes
The trusting bosom, when betray'd.
He felt it-deeply felt-and stood,
As if the tale had froz'n his blood,
So maz'd and motionless was he :-
Like one whom sudden spells enchant,
Or some mute, marble habitant

Of the still Halls of ISHмONIE!*

But soon the painful chill was o'er,
And his great soul, herself once more,
Look'd from his brow in all the rays
Of her best, happiest, grandest days!
Never, in moment most elate,

Did that high spirit loftier rise ;-
While bright, serene, determinate,
His looks are lifted to the skies,
As if the signal light of Fate

Were shining in those awful eyes!
'Tis come-his hour of martyrdom
In IRAN's sacred cause is come;
And, though his life has pass'd away
Like lightning on a stormy day,
Yet shall his death-hour leave a track
Of glory, permament and bright,
To which the brave of after-times,
The suffering brave, shall long look back
With proud regret, and by its light

Watch through the hour of slavery's night

* For an account of Ishmonie, the petrified city in Upper Egypt, where it is said there are many statues of men, women, &c. to be seen to this day, v. Perry's View of the Levant.

For vengeance on the oppressor's crimes!
This rock, his monument aloft,

Shall speak the tale to many an age;
And hither bards and heroes oft
Shall come in secret pilgrimage,
And bring their warrior sons, and tell
The wondering boys where HAFED fell;
And swear them on those lone remains
Of their lost country's ancient fanes,
Never-while breath of life shall live
Within them-never to forgive

Th' accursed race, whose ruthless chain
Hath left on IRAN's neck a stain
Blood, blood alone can cleanse again!

Such are the swelling thoughts that now
Enthrone themselves on HAFED's brow;
And ne'er did Saint of ISSA* gaze

On the red wreath, for martyrs twin'd,
More proudly than the youth surveys

That pile, which through the gloom behind,
Half lighted by the altar's fire,
Glimmers-his destin'd funeral pyre!
Heap'd by his own, his comrades' hands,
Of every wood of odorous breath,
There, by the Fire-God's shrine it stands,
Ready to fold in radiant death

The few still left of those who swore
To perish there, when hope was o'er-
The few to whom that couch of flame,
Which rescues them from bonds and shame,
Is sweet and welcome as the bed

For their own infant Prophet spread,
When pitying Heav'n to roses turn'd

The death-flames that beneath him burn'd!+

* Jesus.

+ The Ghebers say that when Abraham, their great Prophet, was thrown into fire by order of Nimrod, the flame turned instantly into "a bed of roses, where the child sweetly reposed."-Tavernier.