Leaving death’s shadow in his foeman’s breast,
Trusting his soul to God, he sank to rest!
And thou, Dughmood, that stained with blood I see
Winding amongst thy rushes sobbingly;
Thou breeze that from Magou’s steep rock dost waft,
Or from great Ararat descendest soft;—
Thou too like me dost tremble, and thy wings
Listlessly bear thee on thy wanderings:
O’er hill and dale thou fliest, from wood to wood,
Till on this plain thou stay’st thy wings to brood;