Crush'd down by that vast multitude,

Some found their graves where first they stood;
While some with hardier struggle died,
And still fought on by HAFED's side,
Who, fronting to the foe, trod back

Tow'rds the high towers his

And as a lion swept away

gory track;

By sudden swell of JORDAN's pride
From the wild covert where he lay, *

Long battles with the' o'erwhelming tide,

So fought he back with fierce delay,
And kept both foes and fate at bay.

But whither now? their track is lost,
Their prey escap'd — guide, torches gone.
By torrent-beds and labyrinths crost,

The scatter'd crowd rush blindly on —
"Curse on those tardy lights that wind,"
They panting cry, "so far behind;
"Oh for a bloodhound's precious scent,
"To track the way the Gheber went!"
Vain wish - confusedly along

They rush, more desperate as more wrong:
Till, wilder'd by the far-off lights,

Yet glittering up those gloomy heights,

*"In this thicket upon the banks of the Jordan several sorts of wild beasts are wont to harbour themselves, whose being washed out of the covert by the overflowings of the river gave occasion to that aliusion of Jeremiah, he shall come up like a lion from the swelling of Jordan.” — MAUNDRELL'S Alieppo.

Their footing, maz'd and lost, they miss,
And down the darkling precipice
Are dashed into the deep abyss;
Or midway hang, impal'd on rocks,
A banquet, yet alive, for flocks

Of ravening vultures, while the dell
Re-echoes with each horrible yell.

Those sounds

the last, to vengeance dear,

That e'er shall ring in HAFED's ear,
Now reach'd him, as aloft, alone,
Upon the steep way breathless thrown,
He lay beside his reeking blade,
Resign'd, as if life's task were o'er,
Its last blood-offering amply paid,

And IRAN's self could claim no more.
One only thought, one lingering beam
Now broke across his dizzy dream
Of pain and weariness - 't was she,

His heart's pure planet, shining yet
Above the waste of memory,

When all life's other lights were set.
And never to his mind before

Her image such enchantment wore.
It seem'd as if each thought that stain'd,

Each fear that chill'd their loves was past,

And not one cloud of earth remain'd

Between him and her radiance cast;

As if to charms, before so bright,

New grace from other worlds was given,

And his soul saw her by the light

Now breaking o'er itself from heaven!

A voice spoke near him

't was the tone

Of a lov'd friend, the only one

Of all his warriors, left with life
From that short night's tremendous strife.
"And must we then, my chief, die here?
"Foes round us, and the Shrine so near!"
These words have rous'd the last remains
Of life within him "what! not yet
"Beyond the reach of Moslem chains!"

The thought could make ev'n Death forget His icy bondage—with a bound

He springs, all bleeding, from the ground,
And
grasps
his comrade's arm, now grown
Ev'n feebler, heavier than his own,

And up the painful pathway leads,

Death gaining on each step he treads.

Speed them, thou God, who heard'st their vow! They mount they bleed - oh save them now The crags are red they've clamber'd o'er,

The rock-weed's dripping with their

gore;

Thy blade too; HAFED, false at length,

Now breaks beneath thy tottering strength!
Haste, haste-

the voices of the Foe

Come near and nearer from below

One effort more thank Heav'n! 'tis past,

They've gain'd the topmost steep at last.
And now they touch the temple's walls,

Now HAFED sees the Fire divine

When, lo! - his weak, worn comrade falls Dead on the threshold of the shrine. "Alas, brave soul, too quickly fled!

"And must I leave thee withering here, "The sport of every ruffian's tread,

"The mark for every coward's spear? "No, by yon altar's sacred beams!" He cries, and, with a strength that scems Not of this world, uplifts the frame

Of the fall'n Chief, and tow'rds the flame
Bears him along; -with death-damp hand
The corpse upon the pyre he lays,
Then lights the consecrated brand,

And fires the pile, whose sudden blaze
Like lightening bursts o'er OMAN's Sea-
"Now, Freedom's God! I come to thee,"
The youth exclaims, and with a smile
Of triumph vaulting on the pile,
In that last effort, ere the fires
Have harm'd one glorious limb, expires!

What shriek was that on OMAN'S tide?
It came from yonder drifting bark,
That just hath caught upon her side
The death-light and again is dark.
It is the boat-ah, why delay'd?—
That bears the wretched Moslem maid;
Confided to the watchful care

Of a small veteran band, with whom Their

generous Chieftain would not share The secret of his final doom,

But hop'd when HINDA, safe and free,
Was render'd to her father's eyes,

Their pardon, full and prompt, would be
The ransom of so dear a prize.

Unconscious, thus, of HAFED's fate,

And proud to guard their beauteous freight,
Scarce had they clear'd the surfy waves
That foam around those frightful caves,
When the curst war-whoops, known so well,
Came echoing from the distant dell —
Sudden each oar, upheld and still,

Hung dripping o'er the vessel's side,
And driving at the current's will,

They rock'd along the whispering tide;
While every eye, in mute dismay,

Was tow'rd that fatal mountain turn'd,
Where the dim altar's quivering ray
As yet all lone and tranquil burn'd.

Oh! 't is not HINDA, in the power
Of Fancy's most terrific touch
To paint thy pangs in that dread hour

As those who feel could paint too well,

But none e'er felt and liv'd to tell!

"T was not alone the dreary state

Of a lorn spirit, crush'd by fate,

When, though no more remains to dread,
The panic chill will not depart;-

When, though the inmate Hope be dead,

Her ghost still haunts the mouldering heart;