For Zelica stood withering midst the gay,
Wan as the blossom that fell yesterday
From th' Alma tree and dies, while overhead
To-day's young flower is springing in its stead! *
No, not for love-the deepest damn'd must be
Touch'd with heaven's glory, ere such fiends as he
Can feel one glimpse of love's divinity!
But no, she is his victim :--there lie all
Her charms for him-charms 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 † 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 showery nights,
Far as their formidable gleams they shed,
The mighty tents of the beleagurer spread,
Glimmering along th' 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,
Even 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!
"You never can cast your eyes on this tree but you meet there either blossoms or fruit; and as the blossoms drop underneath on the ground, others come forth in their stead."
+ The demons of the Persian mythology.
Carreri mentions the fire-flies in India during the rainy season. § "Sennacherib, called by the orientals King of Moussal."
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 even 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 drown
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,t
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!
Victory'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 waked, and burst impatient through the bar
Of midnight, to inflame him to the war!
"The crown of Gerashid is cloudy and tarnished before the heron tuft of thy turban."-From one of the elegies or songs in praise of Ali, written in characters of gold round the gallery of Abbas's tomb.
"The beauty of Ali's eyes was so remarkable that, whenever the Persians would describe anything as very lovely, they say it is Ayn Hali, or the eyes of Ali."
§ "Il amusa pendant deux mois le peuple de la ville de Nekhscheb en faisant sortir toutes les nuits du fonds d'un puits un corps lumineux semblable à la lune, qui portoit sa lumière jusqu'à la distance de plusieurs milles."-D'Herbelot. Hence he was called Sazendéh Mah, or the Moon
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 loitering 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 Moslems' mighty force.
The watchmen of the camp,-who, in their rounds,
Had paused, and even 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!"
Desperate 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, glittering 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 victory lie disgraced and dead,
Yet morning hears him, with unshrinking crest,
Still vaunt of thrones and victory to the rest ;-
And they believe him!-oh, the lover may
* The Shechinah, called Sakînat in the Koran; vide Sale.
The parts of the night are made known as well by instruments of music as by the rounds of the watchmen with cries and small drums."
"The Serrapurda, high screens of red cloth stiffened with cane, used to
enclose a considerable space round the royal tents."
§ "From the groves of orange trees at Kauzeroon the bees cull a celebrated honey."
Dreviful in was to see the ghastly stare,
The many ick of horror and despair,
When some of these expiring victims cast
In der es mentor to the last;—
ponta meng dend whose veil, now raised,
Shev i dem, sem death's agony they gazed,
Xx me currensed ht, the brow whose beaming
Vau ameira &-onquering, all-redeeming,
Burrus beraber than bell e'er traced
In is w trood Demon of the Waste,*
Si he caught lingering in the light
If the test sexe er blasted human sight
Wira merchents so foci, so fierce as those
1 Imposer now, in grinning mockery, shows—
There wise sat behold your Light, your Star—
Te mid be fpes and victims, and ye are.
sarah! most I, while a thrill
LOVES I TOT sapient bosoms, cheat you still?
Swear that the burning death ye feel within
Is but the trance with which heaven's joys begin;
That this foul visage, foul as e'er disgraced
Even monstrous man, is—after God's own taste;
And that—but see!-ere I have half-way said
My greetings through, th' uncourteous souls are fled.
Farewell sweet spirits! not in vain ye die,
Els joves you half so well as I.—
Ha my young bride!-'tis well-take thou thy seat;
Nay, come-no shuddering-didst thou never meet
The dead before-they graced our wedding, sweet;
And these, my guests to-night, have brimm'd so true
Their parting cups, that thou shalt pledge one too.
Bat-how is this-all empty? all drunk up?
Hot lips have been before thee in the cup,
Young bride,—yet stay-one precious drop remains,
Enough to warm a gentle Priestess' veins ;-
Here, drink-and should thy lover's conquering arms
Speed hither, ere thy lip lose all its charms,
Give him but half this venom in thy kiss,
And I'll forgive my haughty rival's bliss!
"For me-I too must die-but not like these
Vile, rankling things, to fester in the breeze;
To have this brow in ruffian triumph shown,
With all death's grimness added to it own,
The Afghauns believe each of the numerous solitudes and deserts of their country to be inhabited by a lonely demon whom they call the Gholee Beasbau, or Spirit of the Waste. They often illustrate the wildness of any sequestered tribe, by saying they are wild as the Demon of the Waste."
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