Showers of consuming fire o'er all below;
Looking, as through th' illumined night they go,
Like those wild birds' that by the Magians oft,
At festivals of fire, were sent aloft
Into the air, with blazing faggots tied
To their huge wings, scattering combustion wide!
All night the groans of wretches who expire,
In agony, beneath these darts of fire,
Ring through the city-while, descending o'er
Its shrines and domes and streets of sycamore;-
Its lone bazars, with their bright cloths of gold,
Since the last peaceful pageant left unroll'd ;-
Its beauteous marble baths, whose idle jets
Now gush with blood; - and its tall minarets,
That late have stood up in the evening glare
Of the red sun, unhallow'd by a prayer;-
O'er each, in turn, the dreadful flame-bolts fall,
And death and conflagration throughout all
The desolate city hold high festival!
Mokanna sees the world is his no more;-
One sting at parting, and his grasp is o'er.
What! drooping now?'-thus with unblushing cheek,
He hails the few, who yet can hear him speak,
Of all those famish'd slaves around him lying,
And by the light of blazing temples dying ;-
What!-drooping now ?-now, when at length we press
Home o'er the very threshold of success;
When Alla from our ranks hath thinn'd away
Those grosser branches, that kept out his ray
Of favour from us, and we stand at length
Heirs of his light and children of his strength,
The chosen few, who shall survive the fall
Of kings and thrones, triumphant over all!
Have you then lost, weak murmurers as you are,
All faith in him, who was your Light, your Star?
Have you forgot the eye of glory hid
Beneath this Veil, the flashing of whose lid
Could, like a sun-stroke of the desert, wither
Millions of such as yonder chief brings hither?
Long have its lightnings slept-too long-but now
All earth shall feel th' unveiling of this brow!
fire and running into the sea. Dr. Cooke, in his Journal, mentions some wells in Circassia strongly impregnated with this inflammable oil, from which issues boiling water. Though the weather,' he adds, was now very cold, the warmth of these wells of hot water produced near them the verdure and flowers of spring.'
Major Scott Waring says that naphtha is used by the Persians, as we are told it was in hell for lamps.
Of starry lamps and blazing cressets, fed
With naphtha and asphaltus, yielded light
As from a sky.'
'At the great festival of fire, called the Sheb Sezé, they used to set fire to large bunches of dry combustibles, fastened round wild beasts and birds, which being then let loose, the air and earth appeared one great illumination; and as these terrified creatures naturally fled to the wood for shelter, it is easy to conceive the con flagrations they produced.'-Richardson's Diss sertation,
To-night-yes, sainted men! this very night,
I bid you all to a fair festal rite,
Where, having deep refresh'd each weary limb
With viands, such as feast heaven's cherubim,
And kindled up your souls, now sunk and dim,
With that pure wine the Dark-eyed Maids above
Keep, seal'd with precious musk, for those they love,1—
I will myself uncurtain in your sight
The wonders of this brow's ineffable light;
Then lead you forth, and, with a wink disperse
Yon myriads, howling through the universe!'
Eager they listen-while each accent darts
New life into their chill'd and hope-sick hearts ;--
Such treacherous life as the cool draught supplies
To him upon the stake, who drinks and dies!
Wildly they point their lances to the light
Of the fast-sinking sun, and shout To-night!'-
"To-night,' their Chief re-echoes, in a voice
Of fiend-like mockery that bids hell rejoice!
Deluded victims-never hath this earth
Seen mourning half so mournful as their mirth !
Here, to the few whose iron frames had stood
This racking waste of famine and of blood,
Faint, dying wretches clung, from whom the shout
Of triumph like a maniac's laugh broke out ;-
There, others, lighted by the smouldering fire,
Danced, like wan ghosts about a funeral pyre,
Among the dead and dying, strew'd around ;-
While some pale wretch look'd on, and from his wound
Plucking the fiery dart by which he bled,
In ghastly transport waved it o'er his head!
"Twas more than midnight now-a fearful pause
Had follow'd the long shouts, the wild applause,
That lately from those Royal Gardens burst,
Where the Veil'd Demon held his feast accurst,
When Zelica-alas, poor ruin'd heart,
In every horror doom'd to bear its part!-
Was bidden to the banquet by a slave,
Who, while his quivering lip the summons gave,
Grew black, as though the shadows of the grave
Compass'd him round, and, ere he could repeat
His message through, fell lifeless at her feet!
Shuddering she went-a soul-felt pang of fear,
A presage, that her own dark doom was near,
Roused every feeling, and brought reason back
Once more, to writhe her last upon the rack.
All round seem'd tranquil-even the foe had ceased,
As if aware of that demoniac feast,
The righteous shall be given to drink of pure wine, sealed; the seal whereof shall be musk.'Koran, chap. lxxxiii.
His fiery bolts; and though the heavens look'd rel,
'Twas but some distant conflagration's spread.
But hark!-she stops-she listens-dreadful tone!
'Tis her Tormentor's laugh-and now, a groan,
A long death-groan, comes with it-can this be
The place of mirth, the bower of revelry?
She enters-holy Alla, what a sight
Was there before her! By the glimmering light
Of the pale dawn, mix'd with the flare of brands
That round lay burning, dropp'd from lifeless hands,
She saw the board, in splendid mockery spread,
Rich censers breathing-garlands overhead-
The urns, the cups, from which they late had quaff'd,
All gold and gems, but-what had been the draught?
Oh! who need ask that saw those livid guests,
With their swollen heads sunk blackening on their breasts,
Or looking pale to heaven with glassy glare,
As if they sought but saw no mercy there;
As if they felt, though poison rack'd them through,
Remorse the deadlier torment of the two!
While some, the bravest, hardiest in the train
Of their false Chief, who, on the battle-plain,
Would have met death with transport by his side,
Here mute and helpless gasp'd ;-but, as they died.
Look'd horrible vengeance with their eyes' last strain,
And clench'd the slackening hand at him in vain.
Dreadful it was to see the ghastly stare,
The stony look of horror and despair,
Which some of these expiring victims cast
Upon their souls' tormentor to the last ;-
Upon that mocking fiend, whose Veil, now raised,
Show'd them, as in death's agony they gazed,
Not the long promised light, the brow, whose beaming
Was to come forth, all conquering, all redeeming,
But features horribler than hell e'er traced
On its own brood ;-no demon of the waste,1
No churchyard ghole, caught lingering in the light
Of the bless'd sun, e'er blasted human sight
With lineaments so foul, so fierce, as those
Th' impostor now, in grinning mockery, shows
There, ye wise saints, behold your Light, your Star,-
Ye would be dupes and victims, and ye are.
Is it enough? or must I, while a thrill
Lives in your sapient bosoms, cheat you still?
Swear that the burning death ye feel within,
Is but the trance, with which heaven's joys begin;
That this foul visage, foul as e'er disgraced
Even monstrous man, is-after God's own taste;
The Afghauns believe each of the numerous solitudes and deserts of their country to be inhabited by a lonely demon, whom they call the Ghoolee Breabau, or Spirit of the Waste. Thes
often illustrate the wildness of any sequestered tribe, by saying they are wild as the Demou of the Waste.'-Elphinstone's Caubul,
And that-but see!-ere I have half-way said
My greetings through, th' uncourteous souls are fled.
Farewell, sweet spirits! not in vain ye die,
If Eblis loves you half so well as I.—
Ha, my young bride!-'tis well-take thou thy seat;
Nay, come-no shuddering-didst thou never meet
The dead before?-they graced our wedding, sweet;
And these, my guests to-night, have brimm'd so true
Their parting cups, that thou shalt pledge one too.
But-how is this?-all empty? all drunk up?
Hot lips have been before thee in the cup,
Young bride,-yet stay-one precious drop remains,
Enough to warm a gentle Priestess' veins ;-
Here, drink-and should thy lover's conquering arms
Speed hither, ere thy lip lose all its charms,
Give him but half this venom in thy kiss,
And I'll forgive my haughty rival's bliss!
For me-I too must die-but not like these
Vile, rankling things, to fester in the breeze;
To have this brow in ruffian triumph shown,
With all death's grimness added to its own,
And rot to dust beneath the taunting eyes
Of slaves, exclaiming, ‘There his Godship lies !'—
No-cursed race-since first my soul drew breath,
They've been my dupes, and shall be, even in death.
Thou see'st yon cistern in the shade—'tis fill'd
With burning drugs, for this last hour distill'd ;1
There will I plunge me, in that liquid flame-
Fit bath to lave a dying prophet's frame !--
There perish, all-ere pulse of thine shall fail-
Nor leave one limb to tell mankind the tale.
So shall my votaries, wheresoe'er they rave,
Proclaim that Heaven took back the saint it gave;—
That I've but vanish'd from this earth awhile,
To come again, with bright, unshrouded smile!
So shall they build me altars in their zeal,
Where knaves shall minister, and fools shall kneel;
Where Faith may mutter o'er her mystic spell,
Written in blood-and Bigotry may swell
The sail he spreads for heaven with blasts from hell!
So shall my banner, through long ages, be
The rallying sign of fraud and anarchy;-
Kings yet unborn shall rue Mokanna's name,
And, though I die, my spirit, still the same,
Shall walk abroad in all the stormy strife,
And guilt, and blood, that were its bliss in life!
But, hark! their battering engine shakes the wall--
Why, let it shake-thus I can brave them all.
1 'Il donna du poison dans le vin à tous ses gens, et se jetta lui-même ensuite dans une cuve pleine de drogues brûlantes et consumantes, afin qu'il ne restat rien de tous les membres de son
corps, et que ceux qui restoient de sa secte puis-
sent croire qu'il étoit monté au ciel, ce qui ne
manqua pas d'arriver.'-D'Herbelot.
24
No trace of me shall greet them, when they come,
And I can trust thy faith, for-thou'lt be dumb.
Now mark how readily a wretch like me,
In one bold plunge, commences Deity !'
He sprung
and sunk, as the last words were said-
Quick closed the burning waters o'er his head,
And Zelica was left-within the ring
Of thes wide walls the only living thing;
The only wretched one, still cursed with breath,
In all that frightful wilderness of death!
More like some bloodless ghost,-such as, they tell,
In the lone Cities of the Silent' dwell,
And there, unseen of all but Alla, sit
Each by its own pale carcass, watching it.
But morn is up, and a fresh warfare stirs
Throughout the camp of the beleaguerers.
Their globes of fire (the dread artillery, lent
By Greece to conquering Mahadi) are spent ;
And now the scorpion's shaft, the quarry sent
From high balistas, and the shielded throng
Of soldiers swinging the huge ram along,-
All speak th' impatient Islamite's intent
To try, at length, if tower and battlement
And bastion'd wall be not less hard to win,
Less tough to break down, than the hearts within.
First in impatience and in toil is he,
The burning Azim-oh! could he but see
Th' impostor once alive within his grasp,
Not the gaunt lion's hug, nor boa's clasp,
Could match that gripe of vengeance, or keep pace
With the fell heartiness of hate's embrace !
Loud rings the ponderous ram against the walls;
Now shake the ramparts, now a buttress falls,
But still no breach-Once more, one mighty swing
Of all your beams, together thundering!'
There the wall shakes-the shouting troops exult-
"Quick, quick discharge your weightiest catapult
Right on that spot, and Neksheb is our own!
'Tis done-the battlements come crashing down,
And the huge wall, by that stroke riven in two,
Yawning like some old crater, rent anew,
Shows the dim, desolate city smoking through!
But strange! no signs of life-nought living seen
Above, below-what can this stillness mean?
A minute's pause suspends all hearts and eyes-
'In through the breach,' impetuous Azim cries;
1They have all a great reverence for burial-grounds, which they sometimes call by the poetical name of Cities of the Silent, and which they people with the ghosts of the departed, who sit each at the head of his own grave, invisible to mortal eyes.'-Elphinstone.
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