Part 6

“Alla illa Alla!”—the glad shout renew— “Alla Akbar!”[122]—the Caliph’s in MEROU. Hang out your gilded tapestry in the streets, And light your shrines and chaunt your ziraleets.[123] The Swords of God have triumph’d—on his throne Your Caliph sits, and the veil’d 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 Though 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 Lake,[124] 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 ecstacy; When Hope look’d up, and saw the gloomy Past Melt into splendour, 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 check’d—like fount-drops, frozen as they start— And there, like them, cold, sunless relics hang, Each fix’d and chill’d 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 lov’d that ruinous blast. For this, when rumours reach’d him in his flight Far, far away, after that fatal night,— Rumours of armies, thronging to the’ attack Of the Veil’d Chief,—for this he wing’d him back, Fleet as the vulture speeds to flags unfurl’d, And, when all hope seem’d desperate, wildly hurl’d Himself into the scale, and sav’d 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 gain’d MEROU—breath’d a short curse of blood O’er his lost throne—then pass’d the JIHON’S flood,[125] And gathering all, whose madness of belief Still saw a Saviour in their down-fall’n Chief, Rais’d the white banner within NEKSHEB’S gates,[126] And there, untam’d, the’ approaching conqu’ror 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.[127] Oh, not for love—the deepest Damn’d must be Touch’d 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 unroll’d Blacken, beneath his touch, into a scroll Of damning sins, seal’d 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 hell-fire 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 Dives[128] have gifted him—for mark, Over yon plains, which night had else made dark, Those lanterns, countless as the winged lights That spangle INDIA’S fields on showery nights,[129]— 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 arm’d magnificence looks down. Yet, fearless, from his lofty battlements MOKANNA views that multitude of tents; Nay, smiles to think that, though entoil’d, 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 brush’d the thousands of the’ Assyrian King[130] “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 pillar’d throne “Of PARVIZ,[131] and the heron crest that shone,[132] “Magnificent, o’er ALI’S beauteous eyes,[133] “Fade like the stars when morn is in the skies: “Warriors, rejoice—the port to which we’ve pass’d “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 turn’d, and, as he spoke, A sudden splendour all around them broke, And they beheld an orb, ample and bright, Rise from the Holy Well,[134] and cast its light Round the rich city and the plain for miles,[135]— Flinging such radiance o’er the gilded tiles Of many a dome and fair-roof’d minaret As autumn suns shed round them when they set. Instant from all who saw the’ illusive sign A murmur broke—“Miraculous! divine!” The Gheber bow’d, thinking his idol star Had wak’d, and burst impatient through 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,[136] and now again 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 paus’d, and even forgot the punctual sounds Of the small drum with which they count the night,[137] 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 screen,[138] “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 through the glimmering shade, And, as the clash is heard, new legions soon Pour to the spot, like bees of KAUZEROON[139] 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 toss’d vessel, on a stormy night, Catching the tempest’s momentary light!

And hath not _this_ brought the proud spirit low? Nor dash’d his brow, nor check’d his daring? No. Though half the wretches, whom at night he led To thrones and victory, lie disgrac’d 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, through 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 though, at times, a gleam of frenzy broke,— As through 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 wrapp’d 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 seal’d-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 deck’d 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, deck’d in all the pride Of nuptial pomp, she sinks into his tide.[140] 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 Possess’d her now,—and from that darken’d trance Should dawn ere long their Faith’s deliverance. Or if, at times, goaded by guilty shame, Her soul was rous’d, 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 unreap’d:—in vain At morn and eve across the northern plain He looks impatient for the promis’d spears Of the wild Hordes and TARTAR mountaineers; They come not—while his fierce beleaguerers pour Engines of havoc in, unknown before,[141] And horrible as new;[142]—javelins, that fly Enwreath’d with smoky flames through the dark sky, And red-hot globes, that, opening as they mount, Discharge, as from a kindled Naphtha fount,[143] Showers of consuming fire o’er all below; Looking, as through the’ illumin’d night they go, Like those wild birds[144] that by the Magians oft, At festivals of fire, were sent aloft Into the air, with blazing faggots tied To their huge wings, scattering combustion wide. All night the groans of wretches who expire In agony, beneath these darts of fire, Ring through the city—while, descending o’er Its shrines and domes and streets of sycamore,— Its lone bazaars, with their bright cloths of gold, Since the last peaceful pageant left unroll’d,— 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, unhallow’d 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 famish’d 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 thinn’d away “Those grosser branches, that kept out his ray “Of favour 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 refresh’d 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-ey’d Maids above “Keep, seal’d with precious musk, for those they love,[145]— “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 through the universe!”

Eager they listen—while each accent darts New life into their chill’d 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 smould’ring fire, Danc’d like wan ghosts about a funeral pyre, Among the dead and dying, strew’d around;— While some pale wretch look’d on, and from his wound Plucking the fiery dart by which he bled, In ghastly transport wav’d it o’er his head!

’Twas more than midnight now—a fearful pause Had follow’d the long shouts, the wild applause, That lately from those Royal Gardens burst, Where the Veil’d demon held his feast accurst, When ZELICA—alas, poor ruin’d heart, In every horror doom’d to bear its part!— Was bidden to the banquet by a slave, Who, while his quivering lip the summons gave, Grew black, as though the shadows of the grave Compass’d him round, and, ere he could repeat His message through, fell lifeless at her feet! Shuddering she went—a soul-felt pang of fear, A presage that her own dark doom was near, Rous’d every feeling, and brought Reason back Once more, to writhe her last upon the rack. All round seem’d tranquil—even the foe had ceas’d, As if aware of that demoniac feast, His fiery bolts; and though the heavens look’d 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, mix’d with the flare of brands That round lay burning, dropp’d 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 quaff’d, All gold and gems, but—what had been the draught? Oh! who need ask, that saw those livid guests, With their swoll’n heads sunk black’ning on their breasts, Or looking pale to Heaven with glassy glare, As if they sought but saw no mercy there; As if they felt, though poison rack’d them through, 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 gasp’d;—but, as they died, Look’d horrible vengeance with their eyes’ last strain, And clench’d the slack’ning 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 rais’d, Show’d them, as in death’s agony they gazed, Not the long promis’d light, the brow, whose beaming Was to come forth, all conquering, all redeeming, But features horribler than Hell e’er trac’d On its own brood;—no Demon of the Waste,[146] No church-yard Ghole, 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 disgrac’d “Even monstrous man, is—after God’s own taste; “And that—but see!—ere I have half-way said “My greetings through, 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 grac’d our wedding, sweet; “And these, my guests to-night, have brimm’d 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 see’st yon cistern in the shade—’tis fill’d “With burning drugs, for this last hour distill’d:[147]— “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 vanish’d 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, through long ages, be “The rallying sign of fraud and anarchy:— “Kings yet unborn shall rue MOKANNA’S name, “And, though 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 clos’d 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 curs’d 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[148] dwell, 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 balistas, and the shielding throng Of soldiers swinging the huge ram along, All speak the’ impatient Islamite’s intent To try, at length, if tower and battlement And bastion’d wall be not less hard to win, Less tough to break down than the hearts within. First in impatience and in toil is he, 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 that 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 through. But strange! no signs of life—nought living seen Above, below—what can this stillness mean? A minute’s pause suspends all hearts and eyes— “In through 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, advanc’d Forth from the ruin’d walls, and, as there glanc’d 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!