XXII.

Zuleika, mute and motionless, Stood like that Statue of Distress, When, her last hope for ever gone, The Mother hardened into stone; All in the maid that eye could see Was but a younger Niobé. But ere her lip, or even her eye, Essayed to speak, or look reply, 980 Beneath the garden's wicket porch Far flashed on high a blazing torch! Another--and another--and another--[183] "Oh! fly--no more--yet now my more than brother!" Far, wide, through every thicket spread The fearful lights are gleaming red; Nor these alone--for each right hand Is ready with a sheathless brand. They part--pursue--return, and wheel With searching flambeau, shining steel; 990 And last of all, his sabre waving, Stern Giaffir in his fury raving: And now almost they touch the cave-- Oh! must that grot be Selim's grave?