It was no hollow friendship that amid the whirlwind would come forth, and from the Conqueror's field of blood—the Aceldama of his shame and cruelty—would boldly "glean" the Tyrian "olive-tree," or the remaining fruit from Slaughter's "vintage." This was an act worthy of renown from the Sculptor's magic, yet enduring Art, worthy to grace the "Chief Altar" of a land, wherever the "gleanings" of the bloody-harvest should be housed in safety!
August, 332 B. C.] In the seventh month of the Siege, the invaders had repaired and increased the number of their warlike engines and machines, and especially those for battering down the walls. They were now replaced, but stationed out of danger of the ignited fascines, to await the final orders of the King of Macedon, who had retired to the neighbouring Mountain for recreation, until the preparations should be completed for a renewal of the assault. In the mean time the soldiers of Alexander, accustomed to speedy victories, began to murmur at their long and arduous duties, and at the number of their useless dead, which had made their camp nearly a pestilential charnel-house. They desired that the Siege should be instantly raised, that they might march on to certain victories, and so efface their present infamy of defeat. In these sentiments they were joined by many of the subaltern officers; and the growing spirit of open mutiny was roaming through every division of the army.
During this cessation of active hostilities, the Tyrians were making preparation for the great Annual Festival in honour of their tutelary God,—Apollo,—which had been postponed from the summer solstice, owing to the position of the Siege. In this Religious ceremony no one could be excused, or excluded; even the sentinels from the ramparts must leave the steps of war, for the paths of peace: all must join in devotion and thanksgiving to the protecting Sun, which, as Apollo, was supposed at Midsummer to reach his altitude of beatific power. Any Tyrian, therefore, who did not worship the rising of the great Deity of Phœnicia upon that day, was believed to be banished from his genial influence, during the next annual circling of their Zodiac.
It was in the fulness of the Moon's last quarter, in the month of August, that Alexander, having left his Pavilion on the Mountain, and wandering alone through the deep vistas, suddenly cast his war-mantle at the foot of a giant cedar of Lebanon; and reclining thereon, perused a few pages of the Iliad, his fond and fatal companion,—but from anxiety and fatigue was soon in slumber. The sleeper was as solitary as the tree beneath which he slept—for they were both alone in station as they were in character. The Moon had risen in unclouded splendour, and cast her beams, as in playfulness, upon the child of fortune; like celestial Cynthia, when, upon the retiring of her attendants—the Stars of Night—she cast her virgin smiles upon the earthly beauty, and youthful figure of Endymion; for the now sleeping hero had seen but twenty-four summers, and those without a cloud to dim their brilliancy. He now dreamed of Tyrus and her downfall,—a smile played around his lips, triumphant as Apollo's:—he suddenly sprung to his feet and grasped his sword;—the action was but the active portion of his visioned victory, for—
The Mind is ever wakeful,—when the spirits
Grow weary, Nature calls for their repose:
And thus our animal-being slumbers nightly.—
But the Mind moves in its eternal course,
Thought following thought, by the association
Which govern'd them by day: but (like a King