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 ev'ry sword, true as o'er billows dim
The needle tracks the load-star, following him!
Right tow'rds MOKANNA now he cleaves his path, Impatient cleaves, as though the bolt of wrath He bears from Heav'n withheld its awful burst From weaker heads, and souls but half-way curst, 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 flying thousands he is borne away; And the sole joy his baffled spirit knows, In this forced flight, is-murd'ring as he goes! As a grim tiger, whom the torrent's might Surprises in some parch'd ravine at night, Turns, ev'n in drowning, on the wretched flocks, 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.
KNOW where the winged visions dwell
That around the night-bed play;
I know each herb and flow'ret's bell,
Where they hide their wings by day.
Then hasten we, maid,
To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade.
The image of love, that nightly flies
To visit the bashful maid,
Steals from the jasmine flower, that sighs
Its soul, like her, in the shade.
The dream of a future, happier hour,
That alights on Misery's brow,
Springs out of the silv'ry almond-flow'r,
That blooms on a leafless bough.
Then hasten we, maid,
To twine our braid,
To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade.
The visions that oft to worldly eyes
The glitter of mines unfold,
Inhabit the mountain-herb, that dyes
The tooth of the fawn like gold.
The phantom shapes-oh, touch not them
That appal the murd'rer's sight,
Lurk in the fleshly mandrake's stem,
That shrieks, when pluck'd at night!
Then hasten we, maid,
To twine our braid,
To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade.
The dream of the injured, patient mind,
That smiles with the wrongs of men,
Is found in the bruised and wounded rind
Of the cinnamon, sweetest then.
Then hasten we, maid,
To twine our braid,
To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade.
THE POISONED BANQUET.
FROM "THE VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN."
OKANNA sees the world is his no more ;-
One sting at parting, and his grasp is o'er.
"What! drooping now?"-thus, with
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 murm'rers 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 the' unveiling of this brow!
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 Heav'n'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,-
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 treach'rous 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 mock'ry 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 smould'ring 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!
'T was 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 ev'ry horror doom'd to bear its part!-
Was bidden to the banquet by a slave,
Who, while his quiv'ring lip the summons gave,
Grew black, as though the shadows of the grave
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