But see--he starts--what heard he then?
That dreadful shout!--across the glen
From the land-side it comes and loud
Rings thro' the chasm, as if the crowd
Of fearful things that haunt that dell
Its Ghouls and Divs and shapes of hell,
And 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 thro' 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, reclined the steep
And gained the Shrine--his Chiefs stood round--
Their 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 thro' the chasm--oh! who that then
Had seen those listening warrior-men,
With their swords graspt, their eyes of flame
Turned on their Chief--could doubt the shame,
The indignant shame with which they thrill
To hear those shouts and yet stand still?
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 scornest the inglorious sacrifice.
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