THE MOSLEM. 553 



The darkness of despair, profound 

 And horrible. One great throe round 

 Heav'd the deep void, and forth a sprite, 

 A writhing corse of yellow light, 

 Was headlong flung athwart the gloom 

 I woke, and wept to read my doom. 

 Allah ! the spirit thou hast given, 

 By no reverse from thee is riven. 

 In unread letters on each brow 

 The destinies of mortals grow ; 

 But thine is still the mystic soul 

 Unhurt, unseen by thy control ! 

 Devouring earth can ne'er consume 

 That portion in the watery tomb ; 

 The wind can never waft away 

 That essence of our mouldering clay ; 

 The fire may blanch the flesh and bone, 

 But high the spirit soars alone ; 

 Afar the deluge desolate, 

 Wrecks all but its empyrean state ; 

 Each element, and place and time, 

 All war in vain, 'tis e'er sublime ; 

 E'er true to thee, and leal to fate, 

 The bond and seal of Heaven's estate ! 



Allah ! upon this votive spot 

 Be every recreant hope forgot. 

 The witching eye, and that soft lip 

 That whispered here of bliss to sip ; 

 And if, in sooth, my fate is sealed, 

 And half eternity revealed 

 If all my weary risks are run, 

 And these my last views of the sun, 

 Back be my sinking spirit sped 

 Like breeze worn out on roses' bed. 

 Oh ! grant my dying breath may rise 

 In secret to thy deathless skies ! 

 E'en as the note of desert lyre, 

 May I unwatched, unheard expire ! 

 For thine is all I have to give, 

 What boots my charge to those who live ? 



He bowed him lowly to the ground, 

 And moody turned. The piercing sound 

 Of battle, bugle, and the shot 

 Of instant war pealed o'er the spot ; 

 And forth th'invading arms of France 

 Opened before his desperate glance. 

 Up on the instant flew his lance ; 

 But ere it left the steady hand, 

 Three bullets stretched him on the sand ;- 

 Praise Allah ! praise ! Mahommed grace ! 

 Lo, Destiny arrests my race ! 

 He feebly cried, and eastward turn'd. 

 The writhing frame lh' invader spurned 

 With gibes. On marched the death-leagued train, 

 And soon grew dim upon the plain, 

 While he expired unheeded there, 



Even as his spirit craved in prayer! G. L. S. 



M. M. No. 95. 4B 



