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And camels, tufted o'er with Yemen's shells, 101
Shaking in every breeze their light-ton'd bells !

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But yester-eve, so motionless around, So mute was this wide plain, that not a sound But the far torrent, or the locust bird 102 Hunting among the thickets, could be heard ;Yet hark! what discords now, of every kind, Shouts, laughs, and screams are revelling in the wind ; The neigh of cavalry ;—the tinkling throngs Of laden camels and their drivers' songs ; Ringing of arms, and flapping in the breeze Of streamers from ten thousand canopies ;War-music, bursting out from time to time, With gong and tymbalon's tremendous chime ;Or, in the pause, when harsher sounds are mute, The mellow breathings of some horn or flute, That far off, broken by the eagle note Of the Abyssinian trumpet, 104 swell and float.

Who leads this mighty army?-ask ye “who?”
And mark ye not those banners of dark hue,
The Night and Shadow, 105 over yonder tent? -
It is the Caliph's glorious armament.
Roused in his Palace by the dread alarms,
That hourly came, of the false Prophet's arms,
And of his host of infidels, who hurl'd
Defiance fierce at Islam 106 and the world, —
Though worn with Grecian warfare, and behind
The veils of his bright Palace calm reclin'd,
Yet brook'd he not such blasphemy should stain,
Thus unreveng'd, the evening of his reign ;

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But, having sworn upon the Holy Grave 107
To conquer or to perish, once more gave
His shadowy banners proudly to the breeze,
And with an army, nurs’d in victories,
Here stands to crush the rebels that o'errun
His blest and beauteous Province of the Sun.

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Ne'er did the march of MAHADI display Such pomp before ;—not even when on his way To Mecca's Temple, when both land and sea Were spoil'd to feed the Pilgrim's luxury ; 108 When round him, 'mid the burning sands, he saw Fruits of the North in icy freshness thaw, And cool'd his thirsty lip, beneath the glow Of MECCA's sun, with urns of Persian snow : Nor e'er did armament more grand than that Pour from the kingdoms of the Caliphat. First, in the van, the People of the Rock, 110 On their light mountain steeds, of royal stock : Then, chieftains of DAMASCUS, proud to see The flashing of their swords' rich marquetry ; 112Men, from the regions near the Volga's mouth, Mix'd with the rude, black archers of the South ; And Indian lancers, in white-turban'd ranks, From the far SINDE, or ATTOCK's sacred banks, With dusky legions from the land of Myrrh, And many a mace-arm'd Moor and Mid-sea islander.

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Nor less in number, though more new and rude In warfare's school, was the vast multitude That, fir'd by zeal, or by oppression wrong'd, Round the white standard of the Impostor throng'd.

Beside his thousands of Believers—blind,
Burning and headlong as the Samiel wind
Many who felt, and more who fear'd to feel
The bloody Islamite's converting steel,
Flock'd to his banner ;-Chiefs of the UZBEK race,
Waving their heron crests with martial grace ; 114
TURKOMANS, countless as their flocks, led forth
From the aromatic pastures of the North ;
Wild warriors of the turquoise hills, 115—and those
Who dwell beyond the everlasting snows
Of Hindoo Kosh,"16 in stormy freedom bred,
Their fort the rock, their camp the torrent's bed.
But none, of all who own'd the Chief's command,
Rush'd to that battle-field with bolder hand,
Or sterner hate, than IRAN's outlaw'd men,
Her Worshippers of Fire 117—all panting then
For vengeance on the' accursed Saracen ;
Vengeance at last for their dear country spurn’d,
Her throne usurp'd, and her bright shrines o'erturn d.
From YezD's 118 eternal Mansion of the Fire,
Where aged saints in dreams of Heaven expire :
From BADKU, and those fountains of blue flame
That burn into the CASPIAN, 119 fierce they came,
Careless for what or whom the blow was sped,
So vengeance triumph'd, and their tyrants bled.

Such was the wild and miscellaneous host, That high in air their motley banners tost Around the Prophet-Chief-all eyes still bent Upon that glittering Veil, where'er it went, That beacon through the battle's stormy flood, That rainbow of the field, whose showers were blood.

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Twice hath the sun upon their conflict set, And risen again, and found them grappling yet ; While streams of carnage, in his noontide blaze, Smoke up to Heaven-hot as that crimson haze By which the prostrate Caravan is aw'd, 120 In the red Desert, when the wind's abroad. “On, Swords of God!" the panting CALIPH calls,“ Thrones for the living-Heaven for him who falls ! ”

On, brave avengers, on,” MOKANNA cries, “ And Eelis blast the recreant slave that flies !” Now comes the brunt, the crisis of the dayThey 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 Heaven's own mail, The Champions of the Faith through BEDER's vale, 121) Bold as if gifted with ten thousand lives, Turns on the fierce pursuers’ blades, and drives At once the multitudinous torrent backWhile hope and courage kindle in his track ; And, at each step, his bloody falchion makes Terrible vistas through which victory breaks ! In vain MOKANNA, 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 skyIn vain he yells his desperate curses out, Deals death promiscuously to all about,

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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,

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