Who, where a spear is pointed, or a lance
Aim’d at another’s breast, would still advance—
Courts death in vain; each weapon glances by,
As if for him ’twere bliss too great to die.
Yes, Aben-Zurrah! there are deeper woes
Reserved for thee ere nature’s last repose;
Thou know’st not yet what vengeance fate can wreak,
Nor all the heart can suffer ere it break.
Doubtful and long the strife, and bravely fell
The sons of battle in that narrow dell;