Began to drop behind;—some, rolled on earth, Saw their girths broken, or their horses slain. Then Michael’s men drew bridle and stood still, Waiting the onset of the exhausted crew, Whose numbers now were scarce the double of theirs. First came the bold Foujdar. “Forward!” he cried; “Down with the false Feringhi” his last word;— A pistol flash, a groan, a drop of blood On the white drapery he wore—his horse Was riderless for ever. Michael turned Fierce on the cowed pursuers, “Get you back, And tell your master he is now to pay My long-held forfeit for foul injuries, Who dared to fling on me, when I was weak, The childish insults of a childish mind.” That night he was within the British lines; But his dear gold was gone; for at the gate His waggon-bullocks and their driver slain, And half his guard cut off, he had but saved His life alone, and some few jewels, stored Upon his person: once more, all his toil, His guilt, was foiled; he was a beggar still. VII. His ill-gained wealth was gone, but not his heart; And gain it seemed to that impatient spirit That now he should not go, a man disgraced, To build his fallen ancestral home, long bare To the invading scorn of low-born men. He would sail eastward, with what yet remained, Touch at some island of the Tropic seas, And take a freight of spices; thence set sail For the rich ports of China, there to trade, And see the wonders of that unknown land; Thence o’er the broad Pacific, and so down By Panama, and Valparaiso, home By the cold Land of Fire: thus would he voyage, And gain more wealth, and win himself a name For riches and adventure, courage bold, And knowledge of strange countries. Then no more Would cleave to him the brand of his disgrace;— All bow the knee to him whom Fortune serves, And he would be her master: he would rise Higher and brighter o’er the heads of men, Blaze in their sight—no meteor, shortlived, vain, But rule them like the Day-God; then to him The Senate and the Court should open their gates, The mammon-loving City name his name, His old ancestral mansion rear its head, And he would dwell at ease, for all abroad He should behold the lands his fathers held, And breathe again his genial native air. Nature and he should both their youth renew, And all things have a beauty not their own. There, on the upland, shall a milder sun Smite the white cottage and the glistening vane; And nestle in the balmy stack, and float, A fruitful flood upon the southern wall;— There the great oak shall stir his solemn head,