❝ Lost as I am, nought ever grew My doom is like the Dead Sea air, "And nothing lives that enters there! "Why were our barks together driven "Beneath this morning's furious heaven? "Why, when I saw the prize that chance "Had thrown into my desperate arms, "When, casting but a single glance "Upon thy pale and prostrate charms, "I vow'd (though watching viewless o'er "Thy safety through that hour's alarms) "To meet the' unmanning sight no more 66 Why have I broke that heart-wrung vow? Why weakly, madly met thee now?— "Start not- that noise is but the shock "Of torrents through yon valley hurl'd"Dread nothing here- upon this rock "We stand above the jarring world, "Alike beyond its hope its dread "In gloomy safety, like the Dead! "And each o'erlooking star that dwells "The night-cry through each reeking tower, "Unless we fly, ay, fly this hour! "Thou art betray'd some wretch who knew "That dreadful glen's mysterious clew 66 Nay, doubt not - by yon stars, 'tis true "Hath sold thee to my vengeful sire ; "This morning, with that smile so dire "He wears in joy, he told me all, "And stamp'd in triumph through our hall, "As though thy heart already beat "Its last life-throb beneath his feet! "Good Heav'n, how little dream'd I then "His victim was my own lov'd youth! "Fly-send let some one watch the glen 66 By all my hopes of heaven 'tis truth!" S Oh! colder than the wind that freezes Founts, that but now in sunshine play'd, Is that congealing pang which seizes The trusting bosom, when betray'd. He felt it deeply felt and stood, So maz'd and motionless was he; Of the still Halls of ISHMONIE! But soon the painful chill was o'er, Did that high spirit loftier rise; His looks are lifted to the skies, 4 For an account of Ishmonie, the petrified city in Upper Egypt, where it is said there are many statues of men, women, &c. to be seen to this day, v. Perry's View of the Levant. As if the signal-lights of Fate Were shining in those awful eyes! 'Tis come his hour of martyrdom In IRAN's sacred cause is come; And, though his life hath pass'd away Yet shall his death-hour leave a track The suffering brave, shall long look back Shall speak the tale to many an age; And hither bards and heroes oft Shall come in secret pilgrimage, And bring their warrior sons, and tell Never while breath of life shall live Within them- never to forgive The' accursed race, whose ruthless chain Hath left on IRAN's neck a stain Blood, blood alone can cleanse again Such are the swelling thoughts that now On the red wreath, for martyrs twin'd, That pile, which through the gloom behind, Half lighted by the altar's fire, Glimmers, his destin'd funeral pyre! Heap'd by his own, his comrades' hands, To perish there, when hope was o'er The few, to whom that couch of flame, Is sweet and welcome as the bed For their own infant Prophet spread, 5 Jesus. |