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Or sterner hate, than IRAN's outlawed men,
Her Worshippers of Fire- all panting then
For vengeance on the accursed Saracen;
Vengeance at last for their dear country spurned,
Her throne usurped, and her bright shrines o'erturned.
From YezD's 2 eternal Mansion of the Fire,
Where aged saints in dreams of heaven expire ;
From BADKU, and those fountains of blue flame
That burn into the CASPIAN, fierce they came,
Careless for what or whom the blow was sped,
So vengeance triumphed, and their tyrants bled.

Such was the wild and miscellaneous host, That high in air their motley banners tossed Around the Prophet-Chief — all eyes still bent Upon that glittering Veil, where'er it went, That beacon through the battle's stormy flood, That rainbow of the field, whose showers were

blood !

Twice hath the sun upon their conflict set, And risen again, and found them grappling yet; While streams of carnage, in his noontide blaze, Smoke up to heaven - hot as that crimson haze,

1 The Ghebers or Guebres, those original natives of Persia, who adhered to their ancient faith, the religion of Zoroaster, and who, after the conquest of their country by the Arabs, were either persecuted at home, or forced to become wanderers abroad.

2 “ Yezd, the chief residence of those ancient natives, who worship the Sun and the Fire, which latter they have carefully kept lighted, without being once extinguished for a moment, about 3000 years, on a mountain near Yezd, called Ater Quedah, signifying the House or Mansion of the Fire. He is reckoned very unfortunate who dies off that mountain." Stephen's Persia.

3*« When the weather is hazy, the springs of Naphtha (on an island near Baku) boil up the higher, and the Naphtha often takes fire on the surface of the earth, and runs in a flame into the sea to a distance almost incredible.'' - Hanway on the Everlasting Fire at Baku.

By which the prostrate Caravan is awed, In the red Desert, when the wind's abroad. “On, Swords of God!” the panting Caliph calls, – “ Thrones for the living— heaven for him who

falls !” – "On, brave avengers, on,” MOKANNA cries, “And Ellis blast the recreant slave that flies!” Now comes the brunt, the crisis of the day — They clash — they strive — the Caliph's troops give

way! MOKANNA's self plucks the black Banner down, And now the Orient World's Imperial crown Is just within his grasp — when, hark, that shout! Some hand hath checked the flying Moslem's rout; And now they turn, they rally — at their head A warrior, (like those angel youths who led, In glorious panoply of Heaven's own mail, The Champions of the Faith through BEDER's vale,3) Bold as if gifted with ten thousand lives, Turns on the fierce pursuers' blades, and drives At once the multitudinous torrent back While hope and courage kindle in his track; And, at each step, his bloody falchion makes Terrible vistas through which victory breaks ! In vain MOKANNA, midst the general flight, Stands, like the red moon, on some stormy night,

i Savary says of the south wind, which blows in Egypt from February to May, “ Sometimes it appears only in the shape of an impetuous whirlwind, which passes rapidly, and is fatal to the traveller, surprised in the middle of the deserts. Torrents of burning sand roll before it, the firmament is enveloped in a thick veil, and the sun appears of the color of blood. Sometimes whole caravans are buried in it.”

2 In the great victory gained by Mahomed at Beder, he was assisted, say the Mussulmans, by three thousand angels, led by Gabriel, mounted on his horse Hiazım. - See The Koran and its Commentators.

Among the fugitive clouds that, hurrying by,
Leave only her unshaken in the sky -
In vain he yells his desperate curses out,
Deals death promiscuously to all about,
To foes that charge and coward friends that fly,
And seems of all the Great Arch-enemy.
The panic spreads "A miracle !” throughout
The Moslem ranks, “a miracle !” they shout,
All gazing on that youth, whose coming seems
A light, a glory, such as breaks in dreams;
And every sword, true as o'er billows dim
The needle tracks the load-star, following him!

Right towards MOKANNA now he cleaves his path, Impatient cleaves, as though the bolt of wrath He bears from Heaven withheld its awful burst From weaker heads, and souls but half way cursed, To break o'er Him, the mightiest and the worst ! But vain his speed — though, in that hour of blood, Had all God's seraphs round MOKANNA stood, With swords of fire, ready like fate to fall, MOKANNA's soul would have defied them all, Yet now, the rush of fugitives, too strong For human force, hurries ev’n him along ; In vain he struggles 'mid the wedged array Of Aying thousands — he is borne away; And the sole joy his baffled spirit knows, In this forced flight, is — murdering as he goes ! As a grim tiger, whom the torrent's might Surprises in some parched ravine at night, Turns, ev’n in drowning, on the wretched focks, Swept with him in that snow-flood from the rocks,

And, to the last, devouring on his way,
Bloodies the stream he hath not power to stay.

“ Alla illa Alla!” – the glad shout renew “ Alla Akbar!”1 — the Caliph's in MEROU. Hang out your gilded tapestry in the streets, And light your shrines and chant your ziraleets.? The Swords of God have triumphed — on his throne Your Caliph sits, and the Veiled Chief hath flown. Who does not envy that young warrior now, To whom the Lord of Islam bends his brow, In all the graceful gratitude of power, For his throne's safety in that perilous hour ? Who doth not wonder, when, amidst the acclaim Of thousands, heralding to heaven his name, 'Mid all those holier harmonies of fame, Which sound along the path of virtuous souls, Like music round a planet as it rolls, — He turns away — coldly, as if some gloom Hung o'er his heart no triumphs can illume; Some sightless grief, upon whose blasted gaze Though glory's light may play, in vain it plays. Yes, wretched Azim! thine is such a grief, Beyond all hope, all terror, all relief; A dark, cold calm, which nothing now can break, Or warm or brighten, - like that Syrian Lake,3 Upon whose surface morn and summer shed Their smiles in vain, for all beneath is dead !

1 The Tecbir, or cry of the Arabs. “ Alla Acbar!” says Ockley, means, God is most mighty."

2 The ziraleet is a kind of chorus, which the women of the East sing upon joyful occasions. - Russel.

3 The Dead Sea, which contains neither animal nor vegetable life.

Hearts there have been, o'er which this weight of woe
Came by long use of suffering, tame and slow;
But thine, lost youth! was sudden -- over thee
It broke at once, when all seemed ecstasy;
When Hope looked up, and saw the gloomy Past
Melt into splendor, and Bliss dawn at last —
'Twas then, ev’n then, o'er joys so freshly blown,
This mortal blight of misery came down;
Ev’n then, the full, warm gushings of thy heart
Were checked—like fount-drops, frozen as they start -
And there, like them, cold, sunless relics hang,
Each fixed and chilled into a lasting pang.

One sole desire, one passion now remains
To keep life's fever still within his veins, –
Vengeance ! — dire vengeance on the wretch who cast
O’er him and all he loved that ruinous blast.
For this, when rumors reached him in his flight
Far, far away, after that fatal night,
Rumors of armies, thronging to the attack
Of the Veiled Chief, — for this he winged him back,
Fleet as the vulture speeds to flags unfurled,
And, when all hope seemed desperate, wildly hurled
Himself into the scale, and saved a world.
For this he still lives on, careless of all

The wreaths that Glory on his path lets fall;
For this alone exists — like lightning-fire,
To speed one bolt of vengeance, and expire !

But safe as yet that Spirit of Evil lives; With a small band of desperate fugitives, The last sole stubborn fragment, left unriven, Of the proud host that late stood fronting Heaven,

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