All night the groans of wretches who expire
In agony beneath these darts of fire
Ring thro' 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 unrolled,--
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, unhallowed 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 famished 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 thinned away
"Those grosser branches that kept out his ray
"Of favor 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 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 refreshed 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, sealed with precious musk, for those they love,--[133]
"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 thro' the universe!"
Eager they listen--while each accent darts
New life into their chilled 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.
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