A feather from the mystic wings Of the Simoorgh resistless wore; Such were the tales, that won belief, For happy homes and altars free, – His only talisman, the sword, One of that ancient hero line, Along whose glorious current shine AS LEBANON's small mountain-flood Is render'd holy by the ranks Of sainted cedars on its banks!" - 9 This rivulet, says Dandini, is called the Holy River from the 'Twas not for him to crouch the knee Tamely to Moslem tyranny; 'Twas not for him, whose soul was cast In the bright mould of ages past, With all the glories of the dead, Though fram'd for IRAN's happiest years, No far he fled — indignant fled The pageant of his country's shame; While every tear her children shed Fell on his soul, like drops of flame; And, as a lover hails the dawn Of a first smile, so welcom'd he The sparkle of the first sword drawn For vengeance and for liberty! But vain was valour vain the flower Against AL HASSAN'S whelming power. In vain they met him, helm to helm, He came in bigot pomp to sway, And with their corpses block'd his way In vain for every lance they rais'd, Thousands around the conqueror blaz'd; There stood but one short league away From old HARMOZIA'S sultry bay A rocky mountain, o'er the Sea Of OMAN beetling awfully. A last and solitary link Of those stupendous chains that reach From the broad Caspian's reedy brink Down winding to the Green Sea beach. Around its base the bare rocks stood, Like naked giants, in the flood, As if to guard the Gulf across; While, on its peak, that brav'd the sky, That oft the sleeping albatross In her own silent fields of air! Beneath, terrific caverns gave Dark welcome to each stormy wave At times throughout those caverns roll'd, – That bold were Moslem, who would dare, On the land side, those towers sublime, By a wide, deep, and wizard glen, These birds sleep in the air. They are most common about the Cape of Good Hope. P So fathomless, so full of gloom, No eye could pierce the void between; Like distant thunder, from below, The sound of many torrents came; Or floods of ever-restless flame. And, though for ever past the days, 2 When God was worshipp'd in the blaze That from its lofty altar shone, Though fled the priests, the votaries gone, Still did the mighty flame burn on Through chance and change, through good and ill, Like its own God's eternal will, Deep, constant, bright, unquenchable! Thither the vanquish'd HAFED led His little army's last remains; 2 The Ghebers generally built their temples over subterraneous fires. |