Such were the tales that won belief,
And such the coloring Fancy gave
To a young, warm, and dauntless Chief,—
One who, no more than mortal brave,
Fought for the land his soul adored,
For happy homes and altars free,—
His only talisman, the sword,
His only spell-word, Liberty!
One of that ancient hero line,
Along whose glorious current shine
Names that have sanctified their blood:
As LEBANON'S small mountain-flood
Is rendered holy by the ranks
Of sainted cedars on its banks.[223]
'Twas not for him to crouch the knee
Tamely to Moslem tyranny;
'Twas not for him whose soul was cast
In the bright mould of ages past,
Whose melancholy spirit fed
With all the glories of the dead
Tho' framed for IRAN'S happiest years.
Was born among her chains and tears!—
'Twas not for him to swell the crowd
Of slavish heads, that shrinking bowed
Before the Moslem as he past
Like shrubs beneath the poison-blast—
No—far he fled—indignant fled
The pageant of his country's shame;
While every tear her children shed
Fell on his soul like drops of flame;
And as a lover hails the dawn
Of a first smile, so welcomed he
The sparkle of the first sword drawn
For vengeance and for liberty!
But vain was valor—vain the flower
Of KERMAN, in that deathful hour,
Against AL HASSAN'S whelming power.—
In vain they met him helm to helm
Upon the threshold of that realm
He came in bigot pomp to sway,
And with their corpses blockt his way—
In vain—for every lance they raised
Thousands around the conqueror blazed;
For every arm that lined their shore
Myriads of slaves were wafted o'er,—
A bloody, bold, and countless crowd,
Before whose swarm as fast they bowed
As dates beneath the locust cloud.
There stood—but one short league away
From old HARMOZIA'S sultry bay—
A rocky mountain o'er the Sea—
Of OMAN beetling awfully;[224]
A last and solitary link
Of those stupendous chains that reach
From the broad Caspian's reedy brink
Down winding to the Green Sea beach.
Around its base the bare rocks stood
Like naked giants, in the flood
As if to guard the Gulf across;
While on its peak that braved the sky
A ruined Temple towered so high
That oft the sleeping albatross[225]
Struck the wild ruins with her wing,
And from her cloud-rockt slumbering
Started—to find man's dwelling there
In her own silent fields of air!
Beneath, terrific caverns gave
Dark welcome to each stormy wave
That dasht like midnight revellers in;—
And such the strange, mysterious din
At times throughout those caverns rolled,—
And such the fearful wonders told
Of restless sprites imprisoned there,
That bold were Moslem who would dare
At twilight hour to steer his skiff
Beneath the Gheber's lonely cliff.[226]
On the land side those towers sublime,
That seemed above the grasp of Time,
Were severed from the haunts of men
By a wide, deep, and wizard glen,
So fathomless, so full of gloom,
No eye could pierce the void between:
It seemed a place where Ghouls might come
With their foul banquets from the tomb
And in its caverns feed unseen.
Like distant thunder, from below
The sound of many torrents came,
Too deep for eye or ear to know
If 'twere the sea's imprisoned flow,
Or floods of ever-restless flame.
For each ravine, each rocky spire
Of that vast mountain stood on fire;[227]
And tho' for ever past the days
When God was worshipt in the blaze—
That from its lofty altar shone,—
Tho' fled the priests, the votaries gone,
Still did the mighty flame burn on,[228]
Thro' chance and change, thro' good and ill,
Like its own God's eternal will,
Deep, constant, bright, unquenchable!
Thither the vanquisht HAFED led
His little army's last remains;—
"Welcome, terrific glen!" he said,
"Thy gloom, that Eblis' self might dread,
"Is Heaven to him who flies from chains!"
O'er a dark, narrow bridge-way known
To him and to his Chiefs alone
They crost the chasm and gained the towers;—
"This home," he cried, "at least is ours;
"Here we may bleed, unmockt by hymns
"Of Moslem triumph o'er our head;
"Here we may fall nor leave our limbs
"To quiver to the Moslem's tread.
"Stretched on this rock while vultures' beaks
"Are whetted on our yet warm cheeks,
"Here—happy that no tyrant's eye
"Gloats on our torments—we may die!"—
'Twas night when to those towers they came,
And gloomily the fitful flame
That from the ruined altar broke
Glared on his features as he spoke:—
"'Tis o'er—what men could do, we've done—
"If IRAN will look tamely on
"And see her priests, her warriors driven
"Before a sensual bigot's nod,
"A wretch who shrines his lusts in heaven
"And makes a pander of his God;
"If her proud sons, her high-born souls,
"Men in whose veins—oh last disgrace!
"The blood of ZAL and RUSTAM[229] rolls.—
"If they will court this upstart race
"And turn from MITHRA'S ancient ray
"To kneel at shrines of yesterday;
"If they will crouch to IRAN'S foes,
"Why, let them—till the land's despair
"Cries out to Heaven, and bondage grows
"Too vile for even the vile to bear!
"Till shame at last, long hidden, burns
"Their inmost core, and conscience turns
"Each coward tear the slave lets fall
"Back on his heart in drops of gall.
"But here at least are arms unchained
"And souls that thraldom never stained;—
"This spot at least no foot of slave
"Or satrap ever yet profaned,
"And tho' but few—tho' fast the wave
"Of life is ebbing from our veins,
"Enough for vengeance still remains.
"As panthers after set of sun
"Rush from the roots of LEBANON
"Across the dark sea-robber's way,[230]
"We'll bound upon our startled prey.
"And when some hearts that proudest swell
"Have felt our falchion's last farewell,
"When Hope's expiring throb is o'er
"And even Despair can prompt no more,
"This spot shall be the sacred grave
"Of the last few who vainly brave
"Die for the land they cannot save!"
His Chiefs stood round—each shining blade
Upon the broken altar laid—
And tho' so wild and desolate
Those courts where once the Mighty sate:
Nor longer on those mouldering towers
Was seen the feast of fruits and flowers
With which of old the Magi fed
The wandering Spirits of their Dead;[231]
Tho' neither priest nor rites were there,
Nor charmed leaf of pure pomegranate,[232]
Nor hymn, nor censer's fragrant air,
Nor symbol of their worshipt planet;[233]
Yet the same God that heard their sires
Heard them while on that altar's fires
They swore the latest, holiest deed
Of the few hearts, still left to bleed,
Should be in IRAN'S injured name
To die upon that Mount of Flame—
The last of all her patriot line,
Before her last untrampled Shrine!
Brave, suffering souls! they little knew
How many a tear their injuries drew
From one meek maid, one gentle foe,
Whom love first touched with others' woe—
Whose life, as free from thought as sin,
Slept like a lake till Love threw in
His talisman and woke the tide
And spread its trembling circles wide.
Once, EMIR! thy unheeding child
Mid all this havoc bloomed and smiled,—
Tranquil as on some battle plain
The Persian lily shines and towers[234]
Before the combat's reddening stain
Hath fallen upon her golden flowers.
Light-hearted maid, unawed, unmoved,
While Heaven but spared the sire she loved,
Once at thy evening tales of blood
Unlistening and aloof she stood—
And oft when thou hast paced along
Thy Haram halls with furious heat,
Hast thou not curst her cheerful song,
That came across thee, calm and sweet,
Like lutes of angels touched so near
Hell's confines that the damned can hear!
Far other feelings Love hath brought—
Her soul all flame, her brow all sadness,
She now has but the one dear thought,
And thinks that o'er, almost to madness!
Oft doth her sinking heart recall
His words—"for my sake weep for all;"
And bitterly as day on day
Of rebel carnage fast succeeds,
She weeps a lover snatched away
In every Gheber wretch that bleeds.
There's not a sabre meets her eye
But with his life-blood seems to swim;
There's not an arrow wings the sky
But fancy turns its point to him.
No more she brings with footsteps light
AL HASSAN's falchion for the fight;
And—had he lookt with clearer sight,
Had not the mists that ever rise
From a foul spirit dimmed his eyes—
He would have markt her shuddering frame,
When from the field of blood he came,
The faltering speech—the look estranged—
Voice, step and life and beauty changed—
He would have markt all this, and known
Such change is wrought by Love alone!
Ah! not the Love that should have blest
So young, so innocent a breast;
Not the pure, open, prosperous Love,
That, pledged on earth and sealed above,
Grows in the world's approving eyes,
In friendship's smile and home's caress,
Collecting all the heart's sweet ties
Into one knot of happiness!
No, HINDA, no,—thy fatal flame
Is nurst in silence, sorrow, shame;—
A passion without hope or pleasure,
In thy soul's darkness buried deep,
It lies like some ill-gotten treasure,—
Some idol without shrine or name,
O'er which its pale-eyed votaries keep
Unholy watch while others sleep.
Seven nights have darkened OMAN'S sea,
Since last beneath the moonlight ray
She saw his light oar rapidly
Hurry her Gheber's bark away,—
And still she goes at midnight hour
To weep alone in that high bower
And watch and look along the deep
For him whose smiles first made her weep;—
But watching, weeping, all was vain,
She never saw his bark again.
The owlet's solitary cry,
The night-hawk flitting darkly by,
And oft the hateful carrion bird,
Heavily flapping his clogged wing,
Which reeked with that day's banqueting—
Was all she saw, was all she heard.
'Tis the eighth morn—AL HASSAN'S brow
Is brightened with unusual joy—
What mighty mischief glads him now,
Who never smiles but to destroy?
The sparkle upon HERKEND'S Sea,
When tost at midnight furiously,[235]
Tells not of wreck and ruin nigh,
More surely than that smiling eye!
"Up, daughter, up—the KERNA'S[236] breath
"Has blown a blast would waken death,
"And yet thou sleepest—up, child, and see
"This blessed day for heaven and me,
"A day more rich in Pagan blood
"Than ever flasht o'er OMAN'S flood.
"Before another dawn shall shine,
"His head—heart—limbs—will all be mine;
"This very night his blood shall steep
"These hands all over ere I sleep!"—
"His blood!" she faintly screamed—her mind
Still singling one from all mankind—
"Yes—spite of his ravines and towers,
"HAFED, my child, this night is ours.
"Thanks to all-conquering treachery,
"Without whose aid the links accurst,
"That bind these impious slaves, would be
"Too strong for ALLA'S self to burst!
"That rebel fiend whose blade has spread
"My path with piles of Moslem dead,
"Whose baffling spells had almost driven
"Back from their course the Swords of Heaven,
"This night with all his band shall know
"How deep an Arab's steel can go,
"When God and Vengeance speed the blow.
"And—Prophet! by that holy wreath
"Thou worest on OHOD'S field of death,[237]
"I swear, for every sob that parts
"In anguish from these heathen hearts,
"A gem from PERSIA'S plundered mines
"Shall glitter on thy shrine of Shrines.
"But, ha!—she sinks—that look so wild—
"Those livid lips—my child, my child,
"This life of blood befits not thee,
"And thou must back to ARABY.
"Ne'er had I riskt thy timid sex
"In scenes that man himself might dread,
"Had I not hoped our every tread
"Would be on prostrate Persian necks—
"Curst race, they offer swords instead!
"But cheer thee, maid,—the wind that now
"Is blowing o'er thy feverish brow
"To-day shall waft thee from the shore;
"And ere a drop of this night's gore
"Have time to chill in yonder towers,
"Thou'lt see thy own sweet Arab bowers!"