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Crush'd down by that vast multitude,
track; And as a lion swept away
By sudden swell of JORDAN's pride
Long battles with the' o'erwhelming tide,
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 allusion 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,
Those sounds the last, to vengeance dear,
Resign'd, as if life's task were o'er,
And IRAN's self could claim no more.
His heart's pure planet, shining yet
When all life's other lights were set.
Each fear that chill'd their loves was past, And not one cloud of earth remain'd
Between him and her radiance cast;
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
“ what! not yet “ Beyond the reach of Moslem chains!”
The thought could make ev'n Death forget
his comrade's arm, now grown
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 seems 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,
The ransom of so dear a prize.
Hung dripping o'er the vessel's side,
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
't was such
The panic chill will not depart; When, though the inmate Hope be dead, Her ghost still haunts the mouldering heart;