by Thomas Moore
Tho’ half the wretches whom at night he led
To thrones and victory lie disgraced and dead,
Yet morning hears him with unshrinking crest.
Still vaunt of thrones and victory to the rest; —
And they believe him! — oh, the lover may
Distrust that look which steals his soul away; —
The babe may cease to think that it can play
With Heaven’s rainbow; — alchymists may doubt
The shining gold their crucible gives out;
But Faith, fanatic Faith, once wedded fast
To some dear falsehood hugs it to the last.
And well the Impostor knew all lures and arts,
That LUCIFER e’er taught to tangle hearts;
Nor, mid these last bold workings of his plot
Against men’s souls, is ZELICA forgot.
Ill-fated ZELICA! had reason been
Awake, thro’ half the horrors thou hast seen,
Thou never couldst have borne it — Death had come
At once and taken thy wrung spirit home.
But ’twas not so — a torpor, a suspense
Of thought, almost of life, came o’er the intense
And passionate struggles of that fearful night,
When her last hope of peace and heaven took flight:
And tho’ at times a gleam of frenzy broke, —
As thro’ some dull volcano’s veil of smoke
Ominous flashings now and then will start,
Which show the fire’s still busy at its heart;
Yet was she mostly wrapt in solemn gloom, —
Not such as AZIM’S, brooding o’er its doom
And calm without as is the brow of death
While busy worms are gnawing underneath —
But in a blank and pulseless torpor free
From thought or pain, a sealed-up apathy
Which left her oft with scarce one living thrill
The cold, pale victim of her torturer’s will.
Again, as in MEROU, he had her deckt
Gorgeously out, the Priestess of the sect;
And led her glittering forth before the eyes
Of his rude train as to a sacrifice, —
Pallid as she, the young, devoted Bride
Of the fierce NILE, when, deckt in all the pride
Of nuptial pomp, she sinks into his tide.128
And while the wretched maid hung down her head,
And stood as one just risen from the dead
Amid that gazing crowd, the fiend would tell
His credulous slaves it was some charm or spell
Possest her now, — and from that darkened trance
Should dawn ere long their Faith’s deliverance.
Or if at times goaded by guilty shame,
Her soul was roused and words of wildness came,
Instant the bold blasphemer would translate
Her ravings into oracles of fate,
Would hail Heaven’s signals in her flashing eyes
And call her shrieks the language of the skies!
But vain at length his arts — despair is seen
Gathering around; and famine comes to glean
All that the sword had left unreaped; — in vain
At morn and eve across the northern plain
He looks impatient for the promised spears
Of the wild Hordes and TARTAR mountaineers;
They come not — while his fierce beleaguerers pour
Engines of havoc in, unknown before,129
And horrible as new; — javelins, that fly130
Enwreathed with smoky flames thro’ the dark sky,
And red-hot globes that opening as they mount
Discharge as from a kindled Naphtha fount131
Showers of consuming fire o’er all below;
Looking as thro’ the illumined night they go
Like those wild birds that by the Magians oft132
At festivals of fire were sent aloft
Into the air with blazing fagots tied
To their huge wings, scattering combustion wide.
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.
Deluded victims! — never hath this earth
Seen mourning half so mournful as their mirth.
Here, to the few whose iron frames had stood
This racking waste of famine and of blood,
Faint, dying wretches clung, from whom the shout
Of triumph like a maniac’s laugh broke out: —
There, others, lighted by the smouldering fire,
Danced like wan ghosts about a funeral pyre
Among the dead and dying strewed around; —
While some pale wretch lookt on and from his wound
Plucking the fiery dart by which he bled,
In ghastly tra
nsport waved it o’er his head!
’Twas more than midnight now — a fearful pause
Had followed the long shouts, the wild applause,
That lately from those Royal Gardens burst,
Where the veiled demon held his feast accurst,
When ZELICA, alas, poor ruined heart,
In every horror doomed to bear its part! —
Was bidden to the banquet by a slave,
Who, while his quivering lip the summons gave,
Grew black, as tho’ the shadows of the grave
Compast him round and ere he could repeat
His message thro’, fell lifeless at her feet!
Shuddering she went — a soul-felt pang of fear
A presage that her own dark doom was near,
Roused every feeling and brought Reason back
Once more to writhe her last upon the rack.
All round seemed tranquil even the foe had ceased
As if aware of that demoniac feast
His fiery bolts; and tho’ the heavens looked red,
’Twas but some distant conflagration’s spread.
But hark — she stops — she listens — dreadful tone!
’Tis her Tormentor’s laugh — and now, a groan,
A long death-groan comes with it — can this be
The place of mirth, the bower of revelry?
She enters — Holy ALLA, what a sight
Was there before her! By the glimmering light
Of the pale dawn, mixt with the flare of brands
That round lay burning dropt from lifeless hands,
She saw the board in splendid mockery spread,
Rich censers breathing — garlands overhead —
The urns, the cups, from which they late had quaft
All gold and gems, but — what had been the draught?
Oh! who need ask that saw those livid guests,
With their swollen heads sunk blackening on their breasts,
Or looking pale to Heaven with glassy glare,
As if they sought but saw no mercy there;
As if they felt, tho’ poison racked them thro’,
Remorse the deadlier torment of the two!
While some, the bravest, hardiest in the train
Of their false Chief, who on the battle-plain
Would have met death with transport by his side,
Here mute and helpless gasped; — but as they died
Lookt horrible vengeance with their eyes’ last strain,
And clenched the slackening hand at him in vain.
Dreadful it was to see the ghastly stare,
The stony look of horror and despair,
Which some of these expiring victims cast
Upon their souls’ tormentor to the last;
Upon that mocking Fiend whose Veil now raised,
Showed them as in death’s agony they gazed,
Not the long promised light, the brow whose beaming
Was to come forth, all conquering, all redeeming,
But features horribler than Hell e’er traced
On its own brood; — no Demon of the Waste,134
No church-yard Ghoul caught lingering in the light
Of the blest sun, e’er blasted human sight
With lineaments so foul, so fierce as those
The Impostor now in grinning mockery shows: —
“There, ye wise Saints, behold your Light, your Star —
“Ye would be dupes and victims and ye are.
“Is it enough? or must I, while a thrill
“Lives in your sapient bosoms, cheat you still?
“Swear that the burning death ye feel within
“Is but the trance with which Heaven’s joys begin:
“That this foul visage, foul as e’er disgraced
“Even monstrous men, is — after God’s own taste;
“And that — but see! — ere I have half-way said
“My greetings thro’, the uncourteous souls are fled.
“Farewell, sweet spirits! not in vain ye die,
“If EBLIS loves you half so well as I. —
“Ha, my young bride!— ’tis well — take thou thy seat;
“Nay come — no shuddering — didst thou never meet
“The Dead before? — they graced our wedding, sweet;
“And these, my guests to-night, have brimmed so true
“Their parting cups, that thou shalt pledge one too.
“But — how is this? — all empty? all drunk up?
“Hot lips have been before thee in the cup,
“Young bride, — yet stay — one precious drop remains,
“Enough to warm a gentle Priestess’ veins; —
“Here, drink — and should thy lover’s conquering arms
“Speed hither ere thy lip lose all its charms,
“Give him but half this venom in thy kiss,
“And I’ll forgive my haughty rival’s bliss!
“For, me — I too must die — but not like these
“Vile rankling things to fester in the breeze;
“To have this brow in ruffian triumph shown,
“With all death’s grimness added to its own,
“And rot to dust beneath the taunting eyes
“Of slaves, exclaiming, ‘There his Godship lies!’
“No — cursed race — since first my soul drew breath,
“They’ve been my dupes and shall be even in death.
“Thou seest yon cistern in the shade— ’tis filled
“With burning drugs for this last hour distilled;
“There will I plunge me, in that liquid flame —
“Fit bath to lave a dying Prophet’s frame! —
“There perish, all — ere pulse of thine shall fail —
“Nor leave one limb to tell mankind the tale.
“So shall my votaries, wheresoe’er they rave,
“Proclaim that Heaven took back the Saint it gave; —
“That I’ve but vanished from this earth awhile,
“To come again with bright, unshrouded smile!
“So shall they build me altars in their zeal,
“Where knaves shall minister and fools shall kneel;
“Where Faith may mutter o’er her mystic spell,
“Written in blood — and Bigotry may swell
“The sail he spreads for Heaven with blasts from hell!
“So shall my banner thro’ long ages be
“The rallying sign of fraud and anarchy; —
“Kings yet unborn shall rue MOKANNA’S name,
“And tho’ I die my spirit still the same
“Shall walk abroad in all the stormy strife,
“And guilt and blood that were its bliss in life.
“But hark! their battering engine shakes the wall —
“Why, let it shake — thus I can brave them all.
“No trace of me shall greet them when they come,
“And I can trust thy faith, for — thou’lt be dumb.
“Now mark how readily a wretch like me
“In one bold plunge commences Deity!”
He sprung and sunk as the last words were said —
Quick closed the burning waters o’er his head,
And ZELICA was left — within the ring
Of those wide walls the only living thing;
The only wretched one still curst with breath
In all that frightful wilderness of death!
More like some bloodless ghost — such as they tell,
In the Lone Cities of the Silent dwell,135
And there unseen of all but ALLA sit
Each by its own pale carcass watching it.
But morn is up and a fresh warfare stirs
Throughout the camp of the beleaguerers.
Their globes of fire (the dread artillery lent
By GREECE to conquering MAHADI) are spent;
And now the scorpion’s shaft, the quarry sent
From high ba
listas and the shielded throng
Of soldiers swinging the huge ram along,
All speak the impatient Islamite’s intent
To try, at length, if tower and battlement
And bastioned wall be not less hard to win,
Less tough to break down than the hearts within.
First he, in impatience and in toil is
The burning AZIM — oh! could he but see
The impostor once alive within his grasp,
Not the gaunt lion’s hug nor boa’s clasp
Could match thy gripe of vengeance or keep pace
With the fell heartiness of Hate’s embrace!
Loud rings the ponderous ram against the walls;
Now shake the ramparts, now a buttress falls,
But, still no breach— “Once more one mighty swing
“Of all your beams, together thundering!”
There — the wall shakes — the shouting troops exult,
“Quick, quick discharge your weightiest catapult
“Right on that spot and NEKSHEB is our own!”
’Tis done — the battlements come crashing down,
And the huge wall by that stroke riven in two
Yawning like some old crater rent anew,
Shows the dim, desolate city smoking thro’.
But strange! no sign of life — naught living seen
Above, below — what can this stillness mean?
A minute’s pause suspends all hearts and eyes —
“In thro’ the breach,” impetuous AZIM cries;
But the cool CALIPH fearful of some wile
In this blank stillness checks the troops awhile. —
Just then a figure with slow step advanced
Forth from the ruined walls and as there glanced
A sunbeam over it all eyes could see
The well-known Silver Veil!—”’Tis He, ’tis He,
“MOKANNA and alone!” they shout around;
Young AZIM from his steed springs to the ground —
“Mine, Holy Caliph! mine,” he cries, “the task
“To crush yon daring wretch— ’tis all I ask.”
Eager he darts to meet the demon foe
Who still across wide heaps of ruin slow
And falteringly comes, till they are near;
Then with a bound rushes on AZIM’S spear,
And casting off the Veil in falling shows —
Oh!— ’tis his ZELICA’S life-blood that flows!
“I meant not, AZIM,” soothingly she said,
As on his trembling arm she leaned her head,
And looking in his face saw anguish there
Beyond all wounds the quivering flesh can bear —
“I meant not thou shouldst have the pain of this: —
“Tho’ death with thee thus tasted is a bliss
“Thou wouldst not rob me of, didst thou but know
