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That bower and its music I never forget;
But oft when alone, in the bloom of the year, I think is the nightingale singing there yet?
Are the roses still bright by the calm BENDEMEER?
No, the roses soon wither'd that hung o'er the wave,
All the fragrance of summer, when summer was gone.
Thus memory draws from delight, ere it dies,
Thus bright to my soul, as 'twas then to my eyes,
Is that bower on the banks of the calm BENDEMEER!
THE DEFEAT OF MOKΑΝΝΑ.
FROM "THE VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN."
HOSE are the gilded tents that crowd the way,
Hath sprung up here, as if the magic powers
Of Him who, in the twinkling of a star,
Had conjured up, far as the eye can see,
This world of tents, and domes, and sun-bright armory
Princely pavilions, screen'd by many a fold
Of crimson cloth, and topp'd with balls of gold :-
But yester-eve, so motionless around,
So mute was this wide plain, that not a sound
Of the' Abyssinian trumpet, swell and float.
Who leads this mighty army?-ask ye "who?" And mark ye not those banners of dark hue, The Night and Shadow, over yonder tent ?— It is the CALIPH's glorious armament. Roused in his Palace by the dread alarms, That hourly came, of the false Prophet's arms, And of his host of infidels, who hurl'd Defiance fierce at Islam and the world,Though worn with Grecian warfare, and behind The veils of his bright Palace calm reclined,
Yet brook'd he not such blasphemy should stain,
But, having sworn upon the Holy Grave
Ne'er did the march of MAHADI display Such pomp before ;-not ev'n when on his way TO MECCA'S Temple, when both land and sea Were spoil'd to feed the Pilgrim's luxury ; When round him, mid the burning sands, he saw Fruits of the North in icy freshness thaw, And cool'd his thirsty lip, beneath the glow Of MECCA's sun, with urns of Persian snow :Nor e'er did armament more grand than that Pour from the kingdoms of the Caliphat. First, in the van, the People of the Rock, On their light mountain steeds, of royal stock : Then, chieftains of DAMASCUS, proud to see The flashing of their swords' rich marquetry ;Men, from the regions near the VOLGA's mouth, Mix'd with the rude, black archers of the South; And Indian lancers, in white-turban'd ranks, From the far SINDE, or ATTOCK's sacred banks, With dusky legions from the Land of Myrrh, And many a mace-arm'd Moor and Mid-sea islander.
Nor less in number, though more new and rude In warfare's school, was the vast multitude That, fired by zeal, or by oppression wrong'd, Round the white standard of the' impostor throng'd.
Beside his thousands of Believers-blind,
Flock'd to his banner ;-Chiefs of the' UZBEK race,
Where aged saints in dreams of Heav'n expire:
Such was the wild and miscellaneous host, That high in air their motley banners tost 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 heav'n-hot as that crimson haze 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-Heav'n for him who falls! "
'On, brave avengers, on," MOKANNA cries,
"And EBLIS 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!
Is just within his grasp―when, hark, that shout!
The Champions of the Faith through BEDER'S vale.)
Bold as if gifted with ten thousand lives,
At once the multitudinous torrent back-
To foes that charge and coward friends that fly,