Left on the field last dreadful night,
When sallying from their sacred height
The Ghebers fought hope's farewell fight,
He lay--but died not with the brave;
That sun which should have gilt his grave
Saw him a traitor and a slave;--
And while the few who thence returned
To their high rocky fortress mourned
For him among the matchless dead
They left behind on glory's bed,
He lived, and in the face of morn
Laught them and Faith and
Heaven to scorn.
Oh for a tongue to curse the slave
Whose treason like a deadly blight
Comes o'er the councils of the brave
And blasts them in their hour of might!
May Life's unblessed cup for him
Be drugged with treacheries to the brim.--
With hopes that but allure to fly,
With joys that vanish while he sips,
Like Dead-Sea fruits that tempt the eye,
But turn to ashes on the lips![238]
His country's curse, his children's shame,
Outcast of virtue, peace and fame,
May he at last with lips of flame
On the parched desert thirsting die,--
While lakes that shone in mockery nigh,[239]
Are fading off, untouched, untasted,
Like the once glorious hopes he blasted!
And when from earth his spirit flies,
Just Prophet, let the damned-one dwell
Full in the sight of Paradise
Beholding heaven and feeling hell!
LALLA ROOKH had the night before been visited by a dream which in spite of
the impending fate of poor HAFED made her heart more than usually cheerful
during the morning and gave her cheeks all the freshened animation of a
flower that the Bidmusk had just passed over.
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