Thomas Moore- Collected Poetical Works

by Thomas Moore

  The neigh of cavalry; — the tinkling throngs

  Of laden camels and their drivers’ songs; —

  Ringing of arms, and flapping in the breeze

  Of streamers from ten thousand canopies; — 94

  War-music bursting out from time to time

  With gong and tymbalon’s tremendous chime; —

  Or in the pause when harsher sounds are mute,

  The mellow breathings of some horn or flute,

  That far off, broken by the eagle note

  Of the Abyssinian trumpet, swell and float.95

  Who leads this mighty army? — ask ye “who?”

  And mark ye not those banners of dark hue,

  The Night and Shadow, over yonder tent? — 96

  It is the CALIPH’S glorious armament.

  Roused in his Palace by the dread alarms,

  That hourly came, of the false Prophet’s arms,

  And of his host of infidels who hurled

  Defiance fierce at Islam and the world,97

  Tho’ worn with Grecian warfare, and behind

  The veils of his bright Palace calm reclined,

  Yet brooked he not such blasphemy should stain,

  Thus unrevenged, the evening of his reign;

  But having sworn upon the Holy Grave98

  To conquer or to perish, once more gave

  His shadowy banners proudly to the breeze,

  And with an army nurst in victories,

  Here stands to crush the rebels that o’errun

  His blest and beauteous Province of the Sun.

  Ne’er did the march of MAHADI display

  Such pomp before; — not even when on his way

  To MECCA’S Temple, when both land and sea

  Were spoiled to feed the Pilgrim’s luxury;99

  When round him mid the burning sands he saw

  Fruits of the North in icy freshness thaw,

  And cooled his thirsty lip beneath the glow

  Of MECCA’S sun with urns of Persian snow: —

  Nor e’er did armament more grand than that

  Pour from the kingdoms of the Caliphat.

  First, in the van, the People of the Rock100

  On their light mountain steeds of royal stock:101

  Then chieftains of DAMASCUS proud to see

  The flashing of their swords’ rich marquetry; — 102

  Men from the regions near the VOLGA’S mouth

  Mixt with the rude, black archers of the South;

  And Indian lancers in white-turbaned ranks

  From the far SINDE or ATTOCK’S sacred banks,

  With dusky legions from the Land of Myrrh,103

  And many a mace-armed Moor and Midsea islander.

  Nor less in number tho’ more new and rude

  In warfare’s school was the vast multitude

  That, fired by zeal or by oppression wronged,

  Round the white standard of the impostor thronged.

  Beside his thousands of Believers — blind,

  Burning and headlong as the Samiel wind —

  Many who felt and more who feared to feel

  The bloody Islamite’s converting steel,

  Flockt to his banner; — Chiefs of the UZBEK race,

  Waving their heron crests with martial grace;104

  TURKOMANS, countless as their flocks, led forth

  From the aromatic pastures of the North;

  Wild warriors of the turquoise hills, — and those105

  Who dwell beyond the everlasting snows

  Of HINDOO KOSH, in stormy freedom bred,

  Their fort the rock, their camp the torrent’s bed.

  But none of all who owned the Chief’s command

  Rushed to that battle-field with bolder hand

  Or sterner hate than IRAN’S outlawed men,

  Her Worshippers of Fire — all panting then106

  For vengeance on the accursed Saracen;

  Vengeance at last for their dear country spurned,

  Her throne usurpt, and her bright shrines o’erturned.

  From YEZD’S eternal Mansion of the Fire107

  Where aged saints in dreams of Heaven expire:

  From BADKU and those fountains of blue flame

  That burn into the CASPIAN, fierce they came,108

  Careless for what or whom the blow was sped,

  So vengeance triumpht and their tyrants bled.

  Such was the wild and miscellaneous host

  That high in air their motley banners tost

  Around the Prophet-Chief — all eyes still bent

  Upon that glittering Veil, where’er it went,

  That beacon thro’ the battle’s stormy flood,

  That rainbow of the field whose showers were blood!

  Twice hath the sun upon their conflict set

  And risen again and found them grappling yet;

  While streams of carnage in his noontide blaze,

  Smoke up to Heaven — hot as that crimson haze

  By which the prostrate Caravan is awed109

  In the red Desert when the wind’s abroad.

  “Oh, Swords of God!” the panting CALIPH calls, —

  “Thrones for the living — Heaven for him who falls!” —

  “On, brave avengers, on,” MOKANNA cries,

  “And EBLIS blast the recreant slave that flies!”

  Now comes the brunt, the crisis of the day —

  They clash — they strive — the CALIPH’S troops give way!

  MOKANNA’S self plucks the black Banner down,

  And now the Orient World’s Imperial crown

  Is just within his grasp — when, hark, that shout!

  Some hand hath checkt the flying Moslem’s rout;

  And now they turn, they rally — at their head

  A warrior, (like those angel youths who led,

  In glorious panoply of Heaven’s own mail,

  The Champions of the Faith thro BEDER’S vale,)110

  Bold as if gifted with ten thousand lives,

  Turns on the fierce pursuers’ blades, and drives

  At once the multitudinous torrent back —

  While hope and courage kindle in his track;

  And at each step his bloody falchion makes

  Terrible vistas thro’ which victory breaks!

  In vain MOKANNA, midst the general flight,

  Stands like the red moon on some stormy night

  Among the fugitive clouds that hurrying by

  Leave only her unshaken in the sky —

  In vain he yells his desperate curses out,

  Deals death promiscuously to all about,

  To foes that charge and coward friends that fly,

  And seems of all the Great Archenemy.

  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 every sword, true as o’er billows dim

  The needle tracks the lode-star, following him!

  Right towards MOKANNA now he cleaves his path,

  Impatient cleaves as tho’ the bolt of wrath

  He bears from Heaven 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 — tho’, in that hour of blood,

  Had all God’s seraphs round MOKANNA stood

  With swords o’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 even 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 — murdering as he goes!

  As a grim tiger whom the torr
ent’s might

  Surprises in some parched ravine at night,

  Turns even 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 lie hath not power to stay.

  “Alla illa Alla!” — the glad shout renew —

  “Alla Akbar” — the Caliph’s in MEROU.111

  Hang out your gilded tapestry in the streets,

  And light your shrines and chant your ziraleets.112

  The swords of God have triumpht — on his throne

  Your Caliph sits and the veiled Chief hath flown.

  Who does not envy that young warrior now

  To whom the Lord of Islam bends his brow,

  In all the graceful gratitude of power,

  For his throne’s safety in that perilous hour?

  Who doth not wonder, when, amidst the acclaim

  Of thousands heralding to heaven his name —

  Mid all those holier harmonies of fame

  Which sound along the path of virtuous souls,

  Like music round a planet as it rolls, —

  He turns away — coldly, as if some gloom

  Hung o’er his heart no triumphs can illume; —

  Some sightless grief upon whose blasted gaze

  Tho’ glory’s light may play, in vain it plays.

  Yes, wretched AZIM! thine is such a grief,

  Beyond all hope, all terror, all relief!

  A dark, cold calm, which nothing now can break.

  Or warm or brighten, — Like that Syrian Lake113

  Upon whose surface morn and summer shed

  Their smiles in vain, for all beneath is dead! —

  Hearts there have been o’er which this weight of woe

  Came by long use of suffering, tame and slow;

  But thine, lost youth! was sudden — over thee

  It broke at once, when all seemed ecstasy;

  When Hope lookt up and saw the gloomy Past

  Melt into splendor and Bliss dawn at last —

  ’Twas then, even then, o’er joys so freshly blown

  This mortal blight of misery came down;

  Even then, the full, warm gushings of thy heart

  Were checkt — like fount-drops, frozen as they start —

  And there like them cold, sunless relics hang,

  Each fixt and chilled into a lasting pang.

  One sole desire, one passion now remains

  To keep life’s fever still within his veins,

  Vengeance! — dire vengeance on the wretch who cast

  O’er him and all he loved that ruinous blast.

  For this, when rumors reached him in his flight

  Far, far away, after that fatal night, —

  Rumors of armies thronging to the attack

  Of the Veiled Chief, — for this he winged him back,

  Fleet as the Vulture speeds to flags unfurled,

  And when all hope seemed desperate, wildly hurled

  Himself into the scale and saved a world.

  For this he still lives on, careless of all

  The wreaths that Glory on his path lets fall;

  For this alone exists — like lightning-fire,

  To speed one bolt of vengeance and expire!

  But safe as yet that Spirit of Evil lives;

  With a small band of desperate fugitives,

  The last sole stubborn fragment left unriven

  Of the proud host that late stood fronting Heaven,

  He gained MEROU — breathed a short curse of blood

  O’er his lost throne — then past the JIHON’S flood,114

  And gathering all whose madness of belief

  Still saw a Saviour in their down-fallen Chief,

  Raised the white banner within NEKSHEB’S gates,115

  And there, untamed, the approaching conqueror waits.

  Of all his Haram, all that busy hive,

  With music and with sweets sparkling alive,

  He took but one, the partner of his flight,

  One — not for love — not for her beauty’s light —

  No, ZELICA stood withering midst the gay.

  Wan as the blossom that fell yesterday

  From the Alma tree and dies, while overhead

  To-day’s young flower is springing in its stead.116

  Oh, not for love — the deepest Damned must be

  Touched with Heaven’s glory ere such fiends as he

  Can feel one glimpse of Love’s divinity.

  But no, she is his victim; there lie all

  Her charms for him-charms that can never pall,

  As long as hell within his heart can stir,

  Or one faint trace of Heaven is left in her.

  To work an angel’s ruin, — to behold

  As white a page as Virtue e’er unrolled

  Blacken beneath his touch into a scroll

  Of damning sins, sealed with a burning soul —

  This is his triumph; this the joy accurst,

  That ranks him among demons all but first:

  This gives the victim that before him lies

  Blighted and lost, a glory in his eyes,

  A light like that with which hellfire illumes

  The ghastly, writhing wretch whom it consumes!

  But other tasks now wait him — tasks that need

  All the deep daringness of thought and deed

  With which the Divs have gifted him — for mark,117

  Over yon plains which night had else made dark,

  Those lanterns countless as the winged lights

  That spangle INDIA’S field on showery nights, — 118

  Far as their formidable gleams they shed,

  The mighty tents of the beleaguerer spread,

  Glimmering along the horizon’s dusky line

  And thence in nearer circles till they shine

  Among the founts and groves o’er which the town

  In all its armed magnificence looks down.

  Yet, fearless, from his lofty battlements

  MOKANNA views that multitude of tents;

  Nay, smiles to think that, tho’ entoiled, beset,

  Not less than myriads dare to front him yet; —

  That friendless, throneless, he thus stands at bay,

  Even thus a match for myriads such as they.

  “Oh, for a sweep of that dark Angel’s wing,

  “Who brushed the thousands of the Assyrian King119

  “To darkness in a moment that I might

  “People Hell’s chambers with yon host to-night!

  “But come what may, let who will grasp the throne,

  “Caliph or Prophet, Man alike shall groan;

  “Let who will torture him, Priest — Caliph — King —

  “Alike this loathsome world of his shall ring

  “With victims’ shrieks and howlings of the slave, —

  “Sounds that shall glad me even within my grave!”

  Thus, to himself — but to the scanty train

  Still left around him, a far different strain: —

  “Glorious Defenders of the sacred Crown

  “I bear from Heaven whose light nor blood shall drown

  “Nor shadow of earth eclipse; — before whose gems

  “The paly pomp of this world’s diadems,

  “The crown of GERASHID. the pillared throne

  “Of PARVIZ120 and the heron crest that shone121

  “Magnificent o’er ALI’S beauteous eyes.122

  “Fade like the stars when morn is in the skies:

  “Warriors, rejoice — the port to which we’ve past

  “O’er Destiny’s dark wave beams out at last!

  “Victory’s our own— ’tis written in that Book

  “Upon whose leaves none but the angels look,

  “That ISLAM’S sceptre shall beneath the power

  “Of her great foe fall broken in that hour


  “When the moon’s mighty orb before all eyes

  “From NEKSHEB’S Holy Well portentously shall rise!

  “Now turn and see!” — They turned, and, as he spoke,

  A sudden splendor all around them broke,

  And they beheld an orb, ample and bright,

  Rise from the Holy Well and cast its light123

  Round the rich city and the plain for miles, —

  Flinging such radiance o’er the gilded tiles

  Of many a dome and fair-roofed imaret

  As autumn suns shed round them when they set.

  Instant from all who saw the illusive sign

  A murmur broke— “Miraculous! divine!”

  The Gheber bowed, thinking his idol star

  Had waked, and burst impatient thro’ the bar

  Of midnight to inflame him to the war;

  While he of MOUSSA’S creed saw in that ray

  The glorious Light which in his freedom’s day

  Had rested on the Ark, and now again124

  Shone out to bless the breaking of his chain.

  “To victory!” is at once the cry of all —

  Nor stands MOKANNA loitering at that call;

  But instant the huge gates are flung aside,

  And forth like a diminutive mountain-tide

  Into the boundless sea they speed their course

  Right on into the MOSLEM’S mighty force.

  The watchmen of the camp, — who in their rounds

  Had paused and even forgot the punctual sounds

  Of the small drum with which they count the night,125

  To gaze upon that supernatural light, —

  Now sink beneath an unexpected arm,

  And in a death-groan give their last alarm.

  “On for the lamps that light yon lofty screen126

  “Nor blunt your blades with massacre so mean;

  “There rests the CALIPH — speed — one lucky lance

  “May now achieve mankind’s deliverance.”

  Desperate the die — such as they only cast

  Who venture for a world and stake their last.

  But Fate’s no longer with him — blade for blade

  Springs up to meet them thro’ the glimmering shade,

  And as the clash is heard new legions soon

  Pour to the spot, like bees of KAUZEROON127

  To the shrill timbrel’s summons, — till at length

  The mighty camp swarms out in all its strength.

  And back to NEKSHEB’S gates covering the plain

  With random slaughter drives the adventurous train;

  Among the last of whom the Silver Veil

  Is seen glittering at times, like the white sail

  Of some tost vessel on a stormy night

  Catching the tempest’s momentary light!

  And hath not this brought the proud spirit low!

  Nor dashed his brow nor checkt his daring? No.