A heart of stone, she shriek'd his name

To the dark woods no HAFED came:

No-hapless pair-you've look'd your last:

Your hearts should both have broken then:

The dream is o'er

-your

doom is cast

You'll never meet on earth again!

Alas for him, who hears her cries

Still half-way down the steep he stands, Watching with fix'd and feverish eyes

The glimmer of those burning brands, That down the rocks, with mournful ray, Light all he loves on earth away! Hopeless as they who, far at sea,

By the cold moon have just consign'd
The corse of one, lov'd tenderly,

To the bleak flood they leave behind;
And on the deck still lingering stay,
And long look back, with sad delay,
To watch the moonlight on the wave,
That ripples o'er that cheerless grave.

From the land-side it comes, and loud

Rings through the chasm; as if the crowd
Of fearful things, that haunt that dell,
Its Gholes and Dives and shapes of hell,
Had all in one dread howl broke out,
So loud, so terrible that shout!

"They come - the Moslems come!" - he cries,

His proud soul mounting to his eyes,— "Now, Spirits of the Brave, who roam "Enfranchis'd through yon starry dome, "Rejoice for souls of kindred fire "Are on the wing to join your choir!" He said—and, light as bridegrooms bound To their young loves, reclimb'd the steep And gain'd the Shrine - his Chiefs stood roundTheir swords as with instinctive leap,

Together, at that cry accurst,

Had from their sheaths, like sunbeams, burst,
And hark!-again-again it rings;
Near and more near its echoings

Peal through the chasm-oh! who that then
Had seen those listening warrior-men

With their swords grasp'd, their eyes of flame
Turn'd on their Chief- could doubt the shame,
The' indignant shame with which they thrill
To hear those shouts and yet stand still?

"What! while our arms can wield these blades,

"Shall we die tamely? die alone?

"Without one victim to our shades, "One Moslem heart, where, buried deep, "The sabre from its toil may sleep? "No-God of IRAN's burning skies! "Thou scorn'st the' inglorious sacrifice. "No-though of all earth's hope bereft, "Life, swords, and vengeance still are left.

"We'll make yon valley's reeking caves
"Live in the awe-struck minds of men,
"Till tyrants shudder, when their slaves
"Tell of the Gheber's bloody glen.

"Follow brave hearts! — this pile remains

“Our refuge still from life and chains;
"But his the best, the holiest bed,
Who sinks entomb'd in Moslem dead!"

Down the precipitous rocks they sprung,
While vigour, more than human, strung
Each arm and heart. The' exulting foe
Still through the dark defiles below,

Track'd by his torches' lurid fire,

Wound slow, as through GOLCONDA's vale*

The mighty serpent, in his ire,

Glides on with glittering, deadly trail.

No torch the Ghebers need

so well

They know each mystery of the dell,

So oft have, in their wanderings,

Cross'd the wild race that round them dwell,

The very tigers from their delves

Look out, and let them pass, as things
Untam'd and fearless like themselves!

There was a deep ravine, that lay
Yet darkling in the Moslem's way;
Fit spot to make invaders rue

The

many fall'n before the few

* See Hoole upon the Story of Sinbad.

The torrents from that morning's sky
Had fill'd the narrow chasm breast-high,
And on each side, aloft and wild,

Huge cliffs and toppling crags were pil'd, —
The guards with which young Freedom lines
The pathways to her mountain-shrines.
Here at this pass, the scanty band
Of IRAN's last avengers stand;
Here wait, in silence like the dead,
And listen for the Moslem's tread

So anxiously, the carrion-bird
Above them flaps his wing unheard!

They come

that plunge into the water

Gives signal for the work of slaughter.

Had point or prowess, prove them now

Woe to the file that foremost wades!

They come a falchion greets each brow, And, as they tumble, trunk on trunk, Beneath the gory waters sunk, Still o'er their drowning bodies press New victims quick and numberless; Till scarce an arm in HAFED's band,

So fierce their toil, hath power to stir, But listless from each crimson hand

The sword hangs, clogg'd with massacre. Never was horde of tyrants met With bloodier welcome never yet To patriot vengeance hath the sword More terrible libations pour'd!

All up the dreary, long ravine,
By the red, murky glimmer seen

Of half-quench'd brands, that o'er the flood
Lie scatter'd round and burn in blood,
What ruin glares! what carnage swims!
Heads, blazing turbans, quivering limbs,
Lost swords that, dropp'd from many a hand,
In that thick pool of slaughter stand;
Wretches who wading, half on fire

From the toss'd brands that round them fly, "Twixt flood and flame in shrieks expire;

And some who, grasp'd by those that die, Sink woundless with them, smother'd o'er In their dead brethren's gushing gore!

But vainly hundreds, thousands bleed,
Still hundreds, thousands more succeed;
Countless as tow'rds some flame at night
The North's dark insects wing their flight,
And quench or perish in its light,
To this terrific spot they pour-

Till bridg'd with Moslem bodies o'er,
It bears aloft their slippery tread,
And o'er the dying and the dead,
Tremendous causeway! on they pass.
Then, hapless Ghebers, then, alas,
What hope was left for you? for you,
Whose yet warm pile of sacrifice
Is smoking in their vengeful eyes;

Whose swords how keen, how fierce they knew, And burn with shame to find how few.