In the fierce eyes that flash'd around; And saw those towers, all desolate,
That o'er her head terrific frown'd, As if defying e'en the smile
Of that soft heaven to gild their pile. In vain, with mingled hope and fear, She looks for him whose voice so dear Had come, like music, to her ear- Strange, mocking dream! again 't is fled. And oh! the shoots, the pangs of dread That through her inmost bosom run,
When voices from without proclaim "Hafed, the chief!"-and, one by one,
The warriors shout that fearful name! He comes the rock resounds his tread- How shall she dare to lift her head, Or meet those eyes, whose scorching glare Not Yemen's boldest sons can bear? In whose red beam, the Moslem tells, Such rank and deadly lustre dwells, As in those hellish fires that light The mandrake's charnel leaves at night! How shall she bear that voice's tone, At whose loud battle-cry alone Whole squadrons oft in panic ran, Scatter'd, like some vast caravan, When, stretch'd at evening, round the well, They hear the thirsting tiger's yell?
Breathless she stands, with eyes cast down, Shrinking beneath the fiery frown, Which, fancy tells her, from that brow Is flashing o'er her fiercely now; And shuddering, as she hears the tread Of his retiring warrior band.— Never was pause so full of dread;
Till Hafed, with a trembling hand, Took hers, and, leaning o'er her, said, "Hinda!"-that word was all he spoke, And 't was enough-the shriek that broke From her full bosom told the rest.- Panting with terror, joy, surprise, The maid but lifts her wondering eyes
To hide them on her Gheber's breast! "Tis he, 'tis he-the man of blood, The fellest of the fire-fiend's brood, Hafed, the demon of the fight,
Whose voice unnerves, whose glances blight,- Is her own loved Gheber, mild And glorious as when first he smiled In her lone tower, and left such beams Of his pure eye to light her dreams, That she believed her bower had given Rest to some wanderer from heaven!
Moments there are, and this was one, Snatch'd like a minute's gleam of sun Amid the black simoom's eclipse-
Or like those verdant spots that bloom Around the crater's burning lips,
Sweetening the very edge of doom! The past-the future-all that fate Can bring of dark or desperate Around such hours, but makes them cast Intenser radiance while they last!
E'en he, this youth-though dimm'd and gone Each star of hope that cheer'd him on- His glories lost his cause betray'd— Iran, his dear-loved country, made
A land of carcasses and slaves, One dreary waste of chains and graves! Himself but lingering, dead at heart,
To see the last, long-struggling breath Of liberty's great soul depart,
Then lay him down, and share her death— E'en he, so sunk in wretchedness,
With doom still darker gathering o'er him, Yet, in this moment's pure caress,
In the mild eyes that shone before him, Beaming that blest assurance, worth All other transports known on earth, That he was loved-well, warmly loved- Oh! in this precious hour he proved How deep, how thorough-felt the glow Of rapture, kindling out of wo;— How exquisite one single drop Of bliss, thus sparkling to the top
Of misery's cup-how keenly quaff'd, Though death must follow on the draught! She too, while gazing on those eyes
That sink into her soul so deep, Forgets all fears, all miseries,
Or feels them like the wretch in sleep, Whom fancy cheats into a smile, Who dreams of joy, and sobs the while! The mighty ruins where they stood,
Upon the mount's high, rocky verge, Lay open towards the ocean flood,
Where lightly o'er the illumined surge Many a fair bark, that, all the day, Had lurk'd in sheltering creek or bay, Now bounded on and gave their sails, Yet dripping, to the evening gales; Like eagles, when the storm is done, Spreading their wet wings in the sun. The beauteous clouds, though daylight's star Had sunk behind the hills of Lar, Were still with lingering glories bright,- As if to grace the gorgeous west,
The spirit of departing light That eve had left its sunny vest
Behind him, ere he wing'd his flight. Never was scene so form'd for love! Beneath them waves of crystal move In silent swell-heaven glows above, And their pure hearts, to transport given, Swell like the wave, and glow like heaven. But ah! too soon that dream is past- Again, again her fear returns ;— Night, dreadful night, is gathering fast, More faintly the horizon burns, And every rosy tint that lay On the smooth sea hath died away. Hastily to the darkening skies
A glance she casts-then wildly cries, "At night, he said-and, look, 't is near- Fly, fly-if yet thou lovest me, fly- Soon will his murderous band be here, And I shall see thee bleed and die.-
Hush!-heard'st thou not the tramp of men Sounding from yonder fearful glen ?- Perhaps e'en now they climb the wood- Fly, fly-though still the west is bright, He'll come-oh! yes-he wants thy blood- I know him-he'll not wait for night!" In terrors e'en to agony
She clings around the wondering chief;"Alas, poor wilder'd maid! to me
Thou owest this raving trance of grief. Lost as I am, nought ever grew Beneath my shade but perish'd too- My doom is like the Dead Sea air, And nothing lives that enters there! Why were our barks together driven Beneath this morning's furious heaven? Why, when I saw the prize that chance Had thrown into my desperate arms,- When, casting but a single glance
Upon thy pale and prostrate charms, I vow'd (though watching viewless o'er Thy safety through that hour's alarms) To meet the unmanning sight no more- Why have I broke that heart-wrung vow? Why weakly, madly met thee now?- Start not that noise is but the shock Of torrents through yon valley hurl'd- Dread nothing here-upon this rock
We stand above the jarring world, Alike beyond its hope-its dread- In gloomy safety, like the dead! Or, could e'en earth and hell unite In league to storm this sacred height, Fear nothing thou-myself, to-night, And each o'erlooking stars that dwells Near God, will be thy sentinels; And, ere to-morrow's dawn shall glow, Back to thy sire-
"To-morrow!-no"
The maiden scream'd-" thou 'lt never see To-morrow's sun-death, death will be The night-cry through each reeking tower, Unless we fly, ay, fly this hour!
Thou art betray'd-some wretch who knew That dreadful glen's mysterious clew- Nay, doubt not-by yon stars 'tis true- Hath sold thee to my vengeful sire; This morning, with that smile so dire He wears in joy, he told me all,
And stamp'd in triumph through our hall, As though thy heart already beat Its last life-throb beneath his feet! Good heaven, how little dream'd I then
His victim was my own loved youth!- Fly-send-let some one watch the glen- By all my hopes of heaven 'tis truth!" Oh! colder than the wind that freezes Founts, that but now in sunshine play'd, Is that congealing pang which seizes
The trusting bosom, when betray'd. He felt it deeply felt-and stood, As if the tale had frozen his blood, So amazed and motionless was he ;- Like one whom sudden spells enchant,
Or some mute, marble habitant Of the still halls of Ishmonie! But soon the painful chill was o'er, And his great soul, herself once more, Look'd from his brow in all the rays Of her best, happiest, grandest days! Never, in moment most elate,
Did that high spirit loftier rise ;- While bright, serene, determinate, His looks are lifted to the skies, As if the signal lights of fate
Were shining in those awful eyes! "Tis come-his hour of martyrdom In Iran's sacred cause is come; And though his life hath pass'd away Like lightning on a stormy day, Yet shall his death-hour leave a track
Of glory, permanent and bright, To which the brave of aftertimes, The suffering brave shall long look back With proud regret,-and by its light, Watch through the hours of slavery's night For vengeance on the oppressor's crimes! This rock, his monument aloft,
Shall speak the tale to many an age; And hither bards and heroes oft
Shall come in secret pilgrimage, And bring their warrior sons, and tell The wondering boys where Hafed fell, And swear them on those lone remains Of their lost country's ancient fanes, Never-while breath of life shall live Within them-never to forgive The accursed race, whose ruthless chain Hath left on Iran's neck a stain, Blood, blood alone can cleanse again!
Such are the swelling thoughts that now Enthrone themselves on Hafed's brow : And ne'er did Saint of Issa gaze
On the red wreath, for martyrs twined, More proudly than the youth surveys
That pile, which through the gloom behind, Half-lighted by the altar's fire, Glimmers, his destined funeral pyre! Heap'd by his own, his comrade's hands, Of every wood of odorous breath, There, by the Fire-god's shrine it stands, Ready to fold in radiant death The few still left of those who swore
To perish there, when hope was o'er- The few, to whom that couch of flame, Which rescues them from bonds and shame, Is sweet and welcome as the bed For their own infant Prophet spread, When pitying Heaven to roses turn'd The death-flames that beneath him burn'd!
With watchfulness the maid attends His rapid glance, where'er it bends- Why shoots his eyes such awful beams? What plans he now? what thinks or dreams? Alas! why stands he musing here, When every moment teems with fear? "Hafed, my own beloved lord,"
She kneeling cries-"first, last adered!
If in that soul thou'st ever felt
Half what thy lips impassion'd swore, Here, on my knees, that never knelt
To any but their God before,
I pray thee, as thou lovest me, fly- Now, now-ere yet their blades are nigh. Oh haste-the bark that bore me hither Can waft us o'er yon darkening sea East-west-alas, I care not whither, So thou art safe, and I with thee! Go where we will, this hand in thine,
Those eyes before me smiling thus, Through good and ill, through storm and shine. The world's a world of love for us! On some calm, blessed shore we'll dwell, Where 'tis no crime to love too well;- Where thus to worship tenderly An erring child of light like thee, Will not be sin-or, if it be,
Where we may weep our faults away, Together kneeling, night and day, Thou, for my sake, at Alla's shrine, And I-at any God's for thine!" Wildly those passionate words she spoke- Then hung her head, and wept for shame, Sobbing, as if a heart-string broke
With every deep-heaved sob that came. While he, young, warm-oh! wonder not If, for a moment, pride and fame, His oath-his cause-that shrine of flame, And Iran's self are all forgot For her whom at his feet he sees, Kneeling in speechless agonies. No, blame him not, if hope awhile Dawn'd in his soul, and threw her smile O'er hours to come-o'er days and nights, Wing'd with those precious, pure delights Which she, who bends all beauteous there, Was born to kindle and to share! A tear or two, which, as he bow'd
To raise the suppliant, trembling stole, First warn'd him of this dangerous cloud
Of softness passing o'er his soul. Starting, he brush'd the drops away, Unworthy o'er that cheek to stray;— Like one who, on the morn of fight, Shakes from his sword the dews of night, That had but dimm'd, not stain'd its light. Yet, though subdued the unnerving thrill, Its warmth, its weakness linger'd still
So touching in each look and tone, That the fond, fearing, hoping maid Half counted on the flight she pray'd,
Half thought the hero's soul was grown As soft, as yielding as her own;
And smiled and bless'd him, while he said,- "Yes-if there be some happier sphere, Where fadeless truth like ours is dear- If there be any land of rest
For those who love and ne'er forget, Oh! comfort thee-for safe and blest We'll meet in that calm region yet!"
Scarce had she time to ask her heart If good or ill these words impart,
When the roused youth impatient flew To the tower-wall, where, high in view, A ponderous sea-horn hung, and blew A signal, deep and dread as those The storm-fiend at his rising blows.-- Full well his chieftains, sworn and true Through life and death, that signal knew ; For 't was the appointed warning blast, The alarm to tell when hope was past, And the tremendous death-die cast! And there, upon the mouldering tower, Hath hung this sea-horn many an hour, Ready to sound o'er land and sea That dirge-note of the brave and free.
They came-his chieftains at the call Came slowly round, and with them all- Alas, how few! the worn remains Of those who late o'er Kerman's plains Went gayly prancing to the clash
Of Moorish zel and tymbalon, Catching new hope from every flash
Of their long lances in the sunAnd, as their coursers charged the wind, And the wide ox-tails stream'd behind, Looking, as if the steeds they rode Were wing'd, and every chief a god! How fallen, how alter'd now! how wan Each scarr'd and faded visage shone, As round the burning shrine they came;How deadly was the glare it cast, As mute they paused before the flame
To light their torches as they pass'd! "T was silence all--the youth had plann'd The duties of his soldier-band;
And each determined brow declares His faithful chieftains well know theirs.
But minutes speed-night gems the skies- And oh how soon, ye blessed eyes, That look from heaven, ye may behold Sights that will turn your star-fires cold! Breathless with awe, impatience, hope, The maiden sees the veteran group Her litter silently prepare,
And lay it at her trembling feet;- And now the youth, with gentle care,
Hath placed her in the shelter'd seat, And press'd her hand-that lingering press Of hands, that for the last time sever; Of hearts, whose pulse of happiness, When that hold breaks, is dead for ever. And yet to her this sad caress
Gives hope-so fondly hope can err! 'T was joy, she thought, joy's mute excess-Their happy flight's dear harbinger; 'Twas warmth--assurance--tenderness'Twas any thing but leaving her.
"Haste, haste!" she cried, "the clouds grow dark, But still, ere night, we'll reach the bark; And, by to-morrow's dawn--oh bliss!
With thee upon the sun-bright deep, Far off, I'll but remember this,
As some dark vanish'd dream of sleep!
And thou" but ah!-he answers notGood Heav'n!-and does she go alone? She now has reach'd that dismal spot,
Where, some hours since, his voice's tone Had come to soothe her fears and ills, Sweet as the Angel Isratil's, When every leaf on Eden's tree Is trembling to his minstrelsyYet now-oh now, he is not nigh"Hafed! my Hafed!—if it be Thy will, thy doom this night to die, Let me but stay to die with thee, And I will bless thy loved name, Till the last life-breath leave this frame. Oh! let our lips, our cheeks be laid But near each other while they fade: Let us but mix our parting breaths, And I can die ten thousand deaths! You too, who hurry me away So cruelly, one moment stay
Oh! stay-one moment is not much; He yet may come-for him I prayHafed! dear Hafed!"-All the way
In wild lamentings, that would touch A heart of stone, she shriek'd his name To the dark woods-no Hafed came;No-hapless pair-you've look'd your last; Your hearts should both have broken then: The dream is o'er-your doom is castYou'll never meet on earth again!
Alas for him, who hears her cries! Still half-way down the steep he stands, Watching with fix'd and feverish eyes
The glimmer of those burning brands, That down the rocks, with mournful ray, Light all he loves on earth away! Hopeless as they who, far at sea,
By the cold moon have just consign'd The corse of one, loved tenderly,
To the bleak flood they leave behind; And on the deck still lingering stay, And long look back, with sad delay, To watch the moonlight on the wave, That ripples o'er that cheerless grave. But see--he starts--what heard he then? That dreadful shout! across the glen From the land side it comes, and loud Rings through the chasm; as if the crowd Of fearful things, that haunt that dell, Its Gholes and Dives and shapes of hell Had all in one dread howl broke out, So loud, so terrible that shout!
They come the Moslems come!" he cries, His proud soul mounting to his eyes—
Now, spirits of the brave, who roam Enfranchised through yon starry dome, Rejoice for souls of kindred fire Are on the wing to join your choir!" He said-and, light as bridegrooms bound To their young loves, reclimb'd the steep And gain'd the shrine-his chiefs stood roundTheir swords, as with instinctive leap, Together, at that cry accurst,
Had from their sheaths, like sunbeams, burst.
And hark! again—again it rings; Near and more near its echoings Peal through the chasm-oh! who that then Had seen those listening warrior-men, With their swords grasp'd, their eyes of flame Turn'd on their chief-could doubt the shame, The indignant shame with which they thrill. He read their thoughts-they were his own- "What! while our arms can wield these blades, Shall we die tamely? die alone?
Without one victim to our shades, One Moslem heart where, buried deep, The sabre from its toil may sleep? No-God of Iran's burning skies! Thou scorn'st the inglorious sacrifice. No-though of all earth's hope bereft, Life, swords, and vengeance still are left. We'll make yon valley's reeking caves
Live in the awe-struck minds of men, Till tyrants shudder, when their slaves Tell of the Gheber's bloody glen. Follow, brave hearts !-this pile remains Our refuge still from life and chains, But his the best, the holiest bed, Who sinks entomb'd in Moslem dead!" Down the precipitous rocks they sprung, While vigour, more than human, strung Each arm and heart. The exulting foe Still through the dark defiles below, Track'd by his torches' lurid fire,
Wound slow, as through Golconda's vale The mighty serpent, in his ire,
Glides on with glittering, deadly trail. No torch the Ghebers need-so well They know each mystery of the dell,
So oft have, in their wanderings, Cross'd the wild race that round them dwell, The very tigers from their delves
Look out, and let them pass, as things Untamed and fearless as themselves!
There was a deep ravine, that lay Yet darkling in the Moslem's way, Fit spot to make invaders rue The many fall'n before the few. The torrents from that morning's sky Had fill'd the narrow chasm breast-high, And, on each side, aloft and wild,
Huge cliffs and topplings crags were piled, The guards, with which young freedom lines The pathways to her mountain shrines. Here, at this pass, the scanty band Of Iran's last avengers stand- Here wait, in silence like the dead, And listen for the Moslem's tread So anxiously, the carrion-bird Above them flaps his wings unheard! They come that plunge into the water Gives signal for the work of slaughter. Now, Ghebers, now-if ere your blades Had point or prowess, prove them now- Wo to the file that foremost wades!
They come-a falchion greets each brow, And, as they tumble, trunk on trunk, Beneath the gory waters sunk,
Still o'er their drowning bodies press New victims quick and numberless; Till scarce an arm in Hafed's band,
So fierce their toil, hath power to stir, But listless from each crimson hand
The sword hangs, clogg'd with massacre.
Never was horde of tyrants met With bloodier welcome-never yet To patriot vengeance hath the sword More terrible libations pour'd! All up the dreary, long ravine, By the red, murky glimmer seen
Of half-quench'd brands, that o'er the flood Lie scatter'd round and burn in blood, What ruin glares! what carnage swims! Heads, blazing turbans, quivering limbs, Lost swords that, dropp'd from many a hand, In that thick pool of slaughter stand;— Wretches who wading, half on fire
From the toss'd brands that round them fly, 'Twixt flood and flame in shrieks expire:
And some who, grasp'd by those that die, Sink woundless with them, smother'd o'er In their dead brethren's gushing gore! But vainly hundreds, thousands bleed, Still hundreds, thousands more succeed ;- Countless as towards some flame at night The north's dark insects wing their flight, And quench or perish in its light, To this terrific spot they pour- Till, bridged with Moslem bodies o'er, It bears aloft their slippery tread, And o'er the dying and the dead, Tremendous causeway! on they pass.- Then, hapless Ghebers, then, alas,
What hope was left for you? for you, Whose yet warm pile of sacrifice Is smoking in their vengeful eyes-
Whose swords how keen, how fierce they knew, And burn with shame to find how few. Crush'd down by that vast multitude, Some found their graves where first they stood; While some with hardier struggle died, And still fought on by Hafed's side, Who, fronting to the foe, trod back Towards the high towers his gory track; And, as a lion, swept away
By sudden swell of Jordan's pride From the wild covert where he lay,
Long battles with the o'erwhelming tide, So fought he back with fierce delay, And kept both foes and fate at bay. But whither now? their track is lost, Their prey escaped-guide, torches gone- By torrent-beds and labyrinths crost,
The scatter'd crowd rush blindly on- "Curse on those tardy lights that wind," They panting cry, "so far behind- Oh for a bloodhound's precious scent To track the way the Gheber went!" Vain wish-confusedly along
They rush, more desperate as more wrong: Till, wilder'd by the far-off lights, Yet glittering up those gloomy heights,
Their footing, mazed and lost, they miss, And down the darkling precipice Are dash'd into the deep abyss: Or midway hang, impaled on rocks,
A banquet, yet alive, for flocks
Of ravening vultures-while the dell Re-echoes with each horrid yell.
Those sounds-the last, to vengeance dear, That e'er shall ring in Hafed's ear,Now reach him, as aloft, alone, Upon the steep way breathless thrown, He lay beside his reeking blade,
Resign'd, as if life's task were o'er, Its last blood-offering amply paid,
And Iran's self could claim no more. One only thought, one lingering beam Now broke across his dizzy dream Of pain and weariness-'t was she,
His heart's pure planet, shining yet Above the waste of memory,
When all life's other lights were set. And never to his mind before, Her image such enchantment wore. It seem'd as if each thought that stain'd, Each fear that chill'd their loves was past, And not one cloud of earth remain'd
Between him and her glory cast;As if to charms, before so bright,
New grace from other worlds was given, And his soul saw her by the light
Now breaking o'er itself from heaven!
A voice spoke near him-'t was the tone Of a loved friend, the only one Of all his warriors left with life From that short night's tremendous strife.- "And must we then, my chief, die here ?- Foes round us, and the shrine so near?" These words have roused the last remains Of life within him-"what! not yet Beyond the reach of Moslem chains?"—
The thought could make e'en death forget His icy bondage-with a bound
He springs, all bleeding, from the ground, And grasps his comrade's arm, now grown E'en feebler, heavier than his own, And faintly up the pathway leads, Death gaining on each step he treads. Speed them, thou God, who heard'st their vow? They mount-they bleed-oh save them now- The crags are red they've clamber'd o'er, The rock-weeds dripping with their gore- Thy blade too, Hafed, false at length, Now breaks beneath thy tottering strength- Haste, haste-the voices of the foe Come near and nearer from below- One effort more-thank Heaven! 'tis past, They've gain'd the topmost steep at last. And now they touch the temple's walls, Now Hafed sees the Fire divine- When, lo! his weak, worn comrade falls Dead on the threshold of the shrine. "Alas, brave soul, too quickly fled!
And must I leave thee withering here,
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