The chosen few, who shall survive the fall
Of Kings and Thrones, triumphant over all!
Have you then lost, weak murm'rers as you are,
All faith in him, who was your Light, your Star?
Have you forgot the eye of glory, hid

Beneath this Veil, the flashing of whose lid
Could, like a sun-stroke of the desert, wither
Millions of such as yonder Chief brings hither?
Long have its lightnings slept-too long-but now
All earth shall feel th' unveiling of this brow!
To-night-yes, sainted men! this very night,
I bid you all to a fair festal rite,

Where-having deep refresh'd each weary limb
With viands, such as feast Heav'n's cherubim,
And kindled up your souls, now sunk and dim,
With that pure wine the Dark-ey'd Maids above
Keep seal'd with precious musk, for those they love,-
I will myself uncurtain in your sight

The wonders of this brow's ineffable light;

Then lead you forth, and with a wink disperse
Yon myriads, howling through the universe!"

Eager they listen-while each accent darts
New life into their chill'd and hope-sick hearts;
Such treach'rous life as the cool draught supplies
To him upon the stake, who drinks and dies!
Wildly they point their lances to the light
Of the fast sinking sun, and shout "To-night!"-
"To-night," their Chief re-echoes in a voice
Of fiend-like mock'ry that bids hell rejoice.
Deluded victims-never hath this earth
Seen mourning half so mournful as their mirth.
Here, to the few, whose iron frames had stood
This racking waste of famine and of blood,
Faint, dying wretches clung, from whom the shout
Of triumph like a maniac's laugh broke out:-
There, others, lighted by the smould❜ring fire,
Danc'd, like wan ghosts about a funeral pyre,
Among the dead and dying, strew'd around;-

While some pale wretch look'd on, and from his wound
Plucking the fiery dart by which he bled,
In ghastly transport wav'd it o'er his head!

'Twas more than midnight now-a fearful pause
Had follow'd the long shouts, the wild applause,
That lately from those Royal Gardens burst,
Where the Veil'd demon held his feast accurst,
When ZELICA-alas, poor ruin'd heart,

In ev'ry horror doom'd to bear its part-
Was bidden to the banquet by a slave,
Who, while his quiv'ring lip the summons gave,
Grew black, as though the shadows of the grave
Compass'd him round, and, ere he could repeat
His message through, fell lifeless at her feet!
Shudd'ring she went-a soul-felt pang of fear,
A presage that her own dark doom was near,
Rous'd ev'ry feeling, and brought Reason back
Once more, to writhe her last upon the rack.
All round seem'd tranquil-ev'n the foe had ceas'd,
As if aware of that demoniac feast,

His fiery bolts; and though the heav'ns look'd red,
"Twas but some distant conflagration's spread.
But hark-she stops-she listens-dreadful tone!
'Tis her Tormentor's laugh-and now, a groan,
A long death-groan comes with it:-can this be
The place of mirth, the bower of revelry?
She enters-Holy ALLA, what a sight
Was there before her! By the glimm'ring light
Of the pale dawn, mix'd with the flare of brands
That round lay burning, dropp'd from lifeless hands,
She saw the board, in splendid mockery spread,
Rich censers breathing-garlands overhead-

The urns, the cups, from which they late had quaffd
All gold and gems, but-what had been the draught?
Oh! who need ask, that saw those livid guests,

With their swoll'n heads sunk black'ning on their breasts, Or looking pale to Heav'n with glassy glare,

As if they sought but saw no mercy there;

As if they felt, though poison rack'd them through,
Remorse the deadlier torment of the two!
While some, the bravest, hardiest in the train.
Of their false Chief, who on the battle-plain
Would have met death with transport by his side,
Here mute and helpless gasp'd;-but, as they died,
Look'd horrible vengeance with their eyes' last strain,
And clench'd the slack'ning hand at him in vain.

Dreadful it was to see the ghastly stare,
The stony look of horror and despair,
Which some of these expiring victims cast
Upon their souls' tormentor to the last; -

Upon that mocking Fiend, whose Veil, now rais'd,
Show'd them, as in death's agony they gaz'd,

Not the long promis'd light, the brow whose beaming
Was to come forth, all conq'ring, all redeeming,

But features horribler than Hell e'er trac'd

On its own brood;--no Demon of the Waste,
No church-yard Ghole, caught ling'ring in the light
Of the blest sun, e'er blasted human sight
With lineaments so foul, so fierce as those
Th' Impostor now, in grinning mockery, shows:-
"There, ye wise Saints, behold your Light, your Star-
Ye would be dupes and victims, and ye are.
Is it enough? or must I, while a thrill
Lives in your sapient bosoms, cheat you still?
Swear that the burning death ye feel within
Is but the trance with which Heav'n's joys begin;
That this foul visage, foul as e'er disgrac'd
Ev'n 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,
If EBLIS loves you half so well as I.-

Ha, my young bride!-'tis well-take thou thy seat;
Nay, come-no shudd'ring-didst thou never meet
The Dead before? they grac'd our wedding, sweet;
And these, my guests to-night, have brimm'd so true
Their parting cups, that thou shalt pledge one too.
But-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 conq'ring 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 its own,
And rot to dust beneath the taunting eyes
Of slaves, exclaiming, 'There his Godship lies!"
No-cursed race-since first my soul drew breath,
They've been my dupes, and shall be ev'n in death.
Thou see'st yon cistern in the shade-'tis fill'd
With burning drugs, for this last hour distill'd:
There will I plunge me, in that liquid flame—
Fit bath to lave a dying Prophet's frame!
There perish, all-ere pulse of thine shall fail-
Nor leave one limb to tell mankind the tale.
So shall my votaries, wheresoe'er they rave,
Proclaim that Heav'n took back the Saint it gave,
That I've but vanish'd from this earth awhile,
To come again, with bright, unshrouded smile!
So shall they build me altars in their zeal,
Where knaves shall minister, and fools shall kneel;
Where Faith may mutter o'er her mystic spell,
Written in blood-and Bigotry may swell

The sail he spreads for Heav'n with blasts from helli
So shall my banner, through long ages, be
The rallying sign of fraud and anarchy:-
Kings yet unborn shall rue MOKANNA's name,
And, though I die, my spirit, still the same,
Shall walk abroad in all the stormy strife,
And guilt, and blood, that were its bliss in life.
But, hark! their battering engine shakes the wall-
Why, let it shake-thus I can brave them all.
No trace of me shall greet them, hen they come,
And I can trust thy faith, for-thou'lt be dumb.
Now mark how readily a wretch like me,

In one bold plunge commences Deity!"

He sprung and sunk, as the last words were said~~ Quick clos'd the burning waters o'er his head, And ZELICA was left-within the ring

Of those wide walls the only living thing;

The only wretched one, stil. curs'd with breath,

In all that frightful wilderness of death!

More like some bloodless ghost-such as, they tell,
In the Lone Cities of the Silent dwell,

And there, unseen of all but ALLA, sit
Each by its own pale carcass, watching it.

But morn is up, and a fresh warfare stirs
Throughout the camp of the beleaguerers.
Their globes of fire (the dread artill'ry lent
By GREECE to conq'ring MAHADI) are spent;
And now the scorpion's shaft, the quarry sent
From high balistas, and the shielded throng
. Of soldiers swinging the huge ram along,
All speak th' impatient Islamite's intent
To try, at length, if tower and battlement
And bastion'd wall be not less hard to win,
Less tough to break down than the hearts within.
First in impatience and in toil is he,

The burning AZIM-oh! could he but see
Th' Impostor once alive within his grasp,

Not the gaunt lion's hug, nor boa's clasp,

Could match that gripe of vengeance, or keep pace With the fell heartiness of Hate's embrace!

Loud rings the pond'rous ram against the walls
Now shake the ramparts, now a buttress falls,
But still no breach-"Once more, one mighty swing
Of all your beams, together thundering!"
There the wall shakes-the shouting troops exult,
"Quick, quick discharge your weightiest catapult
Right on that spot, and NEKSHEB is our own!"
'Tis done the battlements come crashing down,
And the huge wall, by that stroke riv'n in two,
Yawning, like some old crater, rent anew,
Shows the dim, desolate city smoking through.
But strange! no signs of life-nought living seen
Above, below-what can this stillness mean?
A minute's pause suspends all hearts and eyes—
"In through the breach," impetuous AZIM cries;
But the cool CALIPH, fearful of some wile

In this blank stillness, checks the troops awhile,-
Just then, a figure, with slow step, advane'd
Forth from the ruin'd walls, and, as there glanc'd
A sunbeam over it, all eyes could see

The well-known Silver Veil!""Tis He, 'tis He,