He turn’d away—his eye-ball’s fire renew’d,
As red it roll’d where, half-repentant, stood
The low’ring chiefs amaz’d—the same wild band,
As when they first uprose, in look and stand.
The garb flung back, the haughty lips apart,
The voice just issuing from the swelling heart,
The foot advanc’d in menace, and the sword
High rear’d, to wreak the fury of its lord.190
They seem’d so still, and yet that still spoke more
Than thousand voices mix’d in loud uproar.
V.
And Ismael cast on all his dark’ning eye,
That beam’d with stern and conscious dignity,
And thus he said,—‘It boots not Ismael, here
‘In length of words his slighted fame to clear.
‘But if, to prove mine honour, you are bent,
‘My brave deliverer waits without the tent;
‘Examine him or not, as suits you best,
‘For truth, like gold, is purer from the test.200
‘To use this traitor’s words, who, on the floor
‘Sends out his treason on his ebbing gore,
‘“Why should that gaoler too, in spite of danger
‘“To his own life, free me, to him a stranger?”
“’Tis easy answer’d:—In the hostile strife,
‘Some months ago, this arm had sav’d his life,
‘Albeit a valiant foe, and set him free,
‘Once more to taste the sweets of liberty:
‘Since then Alvante rais’d him to the pow’r,
‘Chief gaoler to the royal dungeon tow’r:210
‘He knew me, and on Gratitude’s fair shrine
‘Repaid the life I gave—by saving mine.
‘Rude Abbas ask’d again, how, with such speed
‘I here return’d, unaided by my steed.
‘I had began t’ explain it—when the force
‘Of his rash fury broke on my discourse.
‘We had not long left Tauris, when the birth
‘Of yonder sun began to wake the earth,
‘And nature open’d all her stores of bliss,
‘On hill and vale, to meet his golden kiss.220
‘When, as we swift strode on, we turn’d our eye
‘On two young horsemen slowly riding by;
‘What should be done?—we wanted steeds—and now
‘Fate in our way these travellers seem’d to throw:
‘We hasten’d to them—mildly proffer’d gold
‘To yield their steeds—they were not to be sold:
‘We seiz’d the reins—we bar’d our blades—and swore
‘That we would buy them with their master’s gore:
‘They heard our threaft’nings, and they mark’d our pow’rs,
‘The caitiffs trembled—and the steeds were ours.230
‘Scarce had we mounted, ere the distant sound
‘Of clanking horse-treads rush’d along the ground.
‘Away we speed—a neighbouring hill we gain—
‘We look behind—we view Alvante’s train
‘In hot pursuance:—like the winged wind,
‘Off, off we scour, and leave them far behind,
‘And noon has view’d us here arrive, t’ assuage
‘The clam’rous treason of suspicious rage.
‘But now, away; ere evening’s shadows fall,
‘Our bands shall revel in Alvante’s hall.240
‘This is the moment of propitious fate;
‘Alvante’s name is held in general hate:
‘At our approach the gates shall open fly,
‘And thou art all our own, O Victory!’
He ceas’d: on every chieftain’s war-worn face,
Of former fury vanish’d every trace;
On each stern brow, swart cheek, and lofty mien,
Nought but the hope of coming fame is seen.
As their dark eyes, with admiration warm,
Glanc’d on their leader’s soul-inspiring form,250
As high it tower’d, a something like divine,
A heav’n-born ray around it seem’d to shine;
His kindling soul flash’d glory from his eyes,
And to his voice, that gleam of enterprise
Had giv’n a tone prophetic; as it roll’d,
He seem’d a being of immortal mould.
And loud they cry, as high is rear’d each sword,
“Long live great Ismael, Persia’s mighty lord.”
Forth from the tent then rush’d the warrior-train,
And here, and there, disperse along the plain;260
Swift sink the tents, the bands in many a throng,
Arm,—form their deep’ning squares,—and sweep along.
VI.
Commotion hovers with her dark wide wings,
O’er Persia’s stately city; there she brings
Her sister, wild Amaze; each dweller’s soul
There, owns those kindred demons’ joint control.
On every form, on every busy mien,
Nought but one mixt expression there was seen;
But that expression told of all the train
Of throbbing passions that usurp the brain.270
There, you might trace young joy, but also there
Spoke something like the reign of fear, of care,
Of wonder, of confusion: sight and speech,
Like freezing streams, seem’d half bound up in each.
As they pour’d from their houses, like the bees
That leave their hives, and throng the fragrant trees,
The only sound that fell upon the ear,
Was (faintly mutter’d) “Ismael is near!”
’Till, as the news gain’d ground, the clamours rise,
And “Ismael! Ismael!” rend the list’ning skies.280
Some fling the high gates open—some loud cry,
“Perish the proud Alvante;” while they fly
To seek the palace, and the court to force,
And send th’ usurper on his long, last course.
The gen’ral shouts, the long and deaf’ning din,
Alvante heard, his stately halls within:
He started up in wonder and alarm;
The flashing sabre found his giant arm.
“Hark! hark! methought I heard that hated name,
“What, is it Ismael?—hark! again—the same.”290
Then his friend Muly rush’d within that room,
Trembling his form, and pale as cygnet’s plume
His vet’ran cheek:—‘Fly, fly, ere yet too late,
‘The clam’rous throng are at the palace gate;
‘Thine head they swear’—(hark, hark, again that roar!)—
‘Shall pay for all the streams of kindred gore
‘Thou’st caus’d to flow; in vain we’ve tried t’assuag
‘Their treasonous tumults, and their guilty rage.
‘They cry that Ismael’s bands are sweeping now,
‘In swift procession, o’er yon mountain’s brow.300
‘O fly, O fly to shield thy regal form,
’Till lull’d the beating dangers of the storm,—
‘Haste to Armenia, that e’er loyal land
‘Will yield my sultan many a mighty band;
‘Haste, haste, O haste!’—“And whither should I fly?
“Here in his courts must king Alvante die;
“King am I now, and Death will lose his sting,
“E’en ’mid his grasp, to think I die a king.”
‘And think’st thou, if thou tarriest here, thy fate
‘Will be in all the royalty of state?310
‘That thou’lt fall nobly? No, a slave thou’lt die,
‘Brought out to grace thy victor’s victory;
‘To feast his minions with thy dying wo;
‘(Hark, hark, the rebels burst the gates below!)
‘This door will lead us hence,—away, away,
‘Lost is your life, your kingdom, if you stay!
‘But hold!—I have it!—cast these garments on,
‘Muffle your face, and mingle with the throng;
‘Then unperceiv’d escape, and haste to gain
‘The troops of conquest in Armenia’s plain;320
‘But now away.’ Though more than mortal brave,
A natural wish his life, his realms to save,
Alvante felt. If tarrying here, he knew
That he must die, and die ignobly too.
If for awhile he went, Armenia might,
By fortune aided, place him in his right.
He instinctively clasp’d the muffling vest
In many a fold around his face and breast,
And both are now disguis’d! one moment more,
And they have past yon gold-enamell’d door,330
And mingled with the throng—and to the sky,
Now, they have join’d the gen’ral clam’rous cry.
A leader mark’d their garb—their mien—their tone—
Again he turn’d to view them—they are gone.