But no, she is his victim;-there lie all

Her charms for him-charins that can never pall,

As long as hell within his heart can stir,
Or one faint trace of Heaven is left in her.
To work an angel's ruin-to behold
As white a page as Virtue e'er unroll'd
Blacken, beneath his touch, into a scroll
Of damning sins, seal'd with a burning soul-
This is his triumph; this the joy accurst,
That ranks him among demons all but first!
This gives the victim, that before him lies
Blighted and lost, a glory in his eyes,

A light like that with which hell-fire illumes
The ghastly, writhing wretch whom it consumes!

But other tasks now wait him-tasks that need All the deep daringness of thought and deed With which the Dives 18 have gifted him--for mark, Over yon plains, which night had else made dark, Those lanterns, countless as the winged lights That spangle INDIA'S fields on show'ry nightsFar as their formidable gleams they shed, The mighty tents of the beleaguerer spread, Glimm'ring along the horizon's dusky line, And thence in nearer circles, till they shine Among the founts and groves, o'er which the town In all its arm'd magnificence looks down. Yet, fearless. from his lofty battlements MOKANNA views that multitude of tents; Nay, smiles to think that, though entoil'd, beset, Not less than myriads dare to front him yet; That friendless, throneless, he thus stands at bay, Ev'n thus a match for myriads such as they. "Oh, for a sweep of that dark Angel's wing, Who brush'd the thousands of th' Assyrian king To darkness in a moment, that I might People hell's chambers with yon host to-night! But, come what may, let who will grasp the throne, Caliph or Prophet, Man alike shall groan; Let who will torture him, Priest-Caliph-King— Alike this loathsome world of his shall ring With victims' shrieks and howlings of the slave,Sounds, that shall glad me ev'n within my grave!"

Thus to himself-but to the scanty train

Still left around him, a far different strain:— 'Glorious defenders of the sacred crown

I bear from heaven, whose light nor blood shall
Nor shadow of earth eclipse;-before whose gems
The paly pomp of this world's diadems,
The crown of GERASHID, the pillar'd throne
Of PARVIZ, and the heron crest that shone,
Magnificent, o'er ALI's beauteous eyes,

Fade like the stars when morn is in the skies:
Warriors, rejoice-the port to which we've pass'd
O'er destiny's dark wave, beams out at last!
Vict'ry's our own-'tis written in that book
Upon whose leaves none but the angels look,
That ISLAM'S sceptre shall beneath the power
Of her great foe fall broken in that hour,
When the moon's mighty orb, before all eyes,
From NEKSHEB'S Holy Well portentously shall rise!
Now turn and see!"-

They turn'd, and, as he spoke,
A sudden splendour all around them broke,
And they beheld an orb, ample and bright,
Rise from the Holy Well, and cast its light
Round the rich city and the plain for miles,—
Flinging such radiance o'er the gilded tiles
Of many a dome and fair-roof'd imaret,

As autumn suns shed round them when they set.
Instant from all who saw th' illusive sign

A murmur broke-" Miraculous! divine!"
The Gheber bow'd, thinking his idol star
Had wak'd, and burst impatient through the bar
Of midnight, to inflame him to the war;
While he of MOUSSA's creed saw, in that ray,
The glorious Light which, in his freedom's day,
Had rested on the Ark, and now again.
Shone out to bless the breaking of his chain.

"To victory!" is at once the cry of all-
Nor stands MOKANNA loit'ring at that call,
But instant the huge gates are flung aside,
And forth, like a diminutive mountain-tide.
Into the boundless sea, they speed their course
Right on into the MOSLEM's mighty force.

wn

The watchmen of the camp,-who, in their rounds,
Had paus'd, and ev'n forgot the punctual sounds
Of the small drum with which they count the night,
To gaze upon that supernatural light,—
Now sink beneath an unexpected arm,

And in a death-groan give their last alarm.
"On for the lamps, that light yon lofty screen,
Nor blunt your blades with massacre so mean;
There rests the CALIPH-speed-one lucky lance
May now achieve mankind's deliverance."
Desp'rate the die-such as they only cast,
Who venture for a world, and stake their last.
But Fate's no longer with him-blade for blade

Springs up to meet them through the glimmering shade,
And, as the clash is heard, new legions soon
Pour to the spot, like bees of KAUZEROON

To the shrill timbrel's summons,-till, at length,
The mighty camp swarms out in all its strength,
And back to NEKSHEB'S gates, covering the plain
With random slaughter, drives the adventurous train;
Among the last of whom the Silver Veil

Is seen glitt'ring at times, like the white sail
Of some toss'd vessel, on a stormy night,
Catching the tempest's momentary light!

And hath not this brought the proud spirit low?
Nor dash'd his brow, nor check'd his daring? No
Though half the wretches, whom at night he led
To thrones and vict'ry, lie disgrac'd and dead,
Yet morning hears him with unshrinking crest,
Still vaunt of thrones and vict'ry to the rest;-
And they believe him!-oh, the lover may
Distrust that look which steals his soul away;-
The babe may cease to think that it can play
With heaven's rainbow alchymists may doubt
The shining gold their crucible gives out;
But Faith, fanatic Faith, once wedded fast
To some dear falsehood, hugs it to the last.

And well th Impostor knew all lures and arts,
That LUCIFER e'er taught to tangle hearts;
Nor, 'mid these last bold workings of his plot
Against men's souls, is ZELICA forgot.

Ill-fated ZELICA! had reason been

Awake, through half the horrors thou hast seen,
Thou never could'st have borne it-Death had come
At once, and taken thy wrung spirit home.
But 'twas not so-a torpor, a suspense

Of thought, almost of life, came o'er the intense
And passionate struggles of that fearful night,
When her last hope of peace and heav'n took flight:
And though, at times, a gleam of frenzy broke,—
As through some dull volcano's vale of smoke
Ominous flashings now and then will start,
Which show the fire's still busy at its heart;
Yet was she mostly wrapp'd in solemn gloom,-
Not such as AZIM's, brooding o'er its doom,
And calm without, as is the brow of death,
While busy worms are gnawing underneath-
But in a blank and pulseless torpor, free
From thought or pain, a seal'd-up apathy,
Which left her oft, with scarce one living thrill,
The cold, pale victim of her tort'rer's will.

Again, as in MEROU, he had her deck'd
Gorgeously out, the Priestess of the sect;
And led her glitt'ring forth before the eyes
Of his rude train, as to a sacrifice,-
Pallid as she, the young, devoted Bride

Of the fierce NILE, when, deck'd in all the pride

Of nuptial pomp, she sinks into his tide.

And while the wretched maid hung down her head,
And stood, as one just risen from the dead,

Amid that gazing crowd, the fiend would tell
His credulous slaves it was some charm or spell
Possess'd her now,-and from that darken'd trance
Should dawn ere long their Faith's deliverance.
Or if, at times, goaded by guilty shame,

Her soul was rous'd, and words of wildness came,
Instant the bold blasphemer would translate
Her ravings into oracles of fate,

Would hail Heav'n's signals in her flashing eyes,
And call her shrieks the language of the skies!

But vain at length his arts-despair is seen Gath'ring around; and famine comes to glean

All that the sword had left unreap'd:-in vain
At morn and eve across the northern plain
He looks impatient for the promis'd spears
Or the wild Hordes and TARTAR mountaineers;
They come not-while his fierce beleaguerers pour
Engines of havoc in, unknown before,

And horrible as new; javelins, that fly

Enwreath'd with smoky flames through the dark sky,
And red-hot globes, that, opening as they mount,
Discharge, as from a kindled Naphtha fount,
Showers of consuming fire o'er all below;

Looking, as through th' illumin'd night they go,
Like those wild birds that by the Magians oft,
At festivals of fire, were sent aloft

Into the air, with blazing faggots tied

To their huge wings, scatt'ring combustion wide.
All night the groans of wretches who expire,
In agony, beneath these darts of fire,

Ring through the city-while, descending o'er
Its shrines and domes and streets of sycamore,―
Its lone bazars, with their bright cloths of gold,
Since the last peaceful pageant left unroll'd,-
Its beauteous marble baths, those idol jets
Now gush with blood,-and its tall minarets,
That late have stood up in the ev'ning glare
Of the red sun, unhallow'd by a prayer;-
O'er each, in turn the dreadful flame-bolts fall
And death and conflagration throughout all
The desolate city hold high festival!

MOKANNA sees the world is his no more;-
One sting at parting, and his grasp is o'er.
"What! drooping now?"-thus, with unblushing cheek
He hails the few, who yet can hear him speak,

Of all those famish'd slaves around him lying,
And by the light of blazing temples dying;-

"What!-drooping now?-now, when at length we press
Home o'er the very threshold of success;
When ALLA from our ranks hath thinn'd away
Those grosser branches, that kept out his ray
Of favour from us, and we stand at length
Heirs of his light and children of his strength,