II. "'Tis joyesse all in Eesa's home! This day the Chieftain's pride Shall join the song, the dance, the feast, And bear away a bride. III. "'He cometh not!' the father cried, Smiting with spear the wall; 'And yet he sent the ghostly man, Yestre'en before the fall!' IV. "'He cometh not!' the mother said, A tear stood in her eye; 'He cometh not, I dread, I dread, And yet I know not why.' V. "'He cometh not!' the maiden thought, Yet in her glance was light, Soft as the flash in summer's eve Where sky and earth unite. VI. "The virgins, deck'd with tress and flower, Danced in the purple shade, And not a soul, perchance, but wished Herself the chosen maid. VII. "The guests in groups sat gathering Where sunbeams warmed the air, Some laughed the feasters' laugh, and some Wore the bent brow of care. VIII. "'Tis he!--'tis he!"--all anxious peer, Towards the distant lea; A courser feebly nears the throng-- Ah! 'tis his steed they see. IX. "The grief cry bursts from every lip, Fear sits on every brow, There's blood upon the courser's flank!-- Blood on the saddle bow! X. "'Tis he!--'tis he!'--all arm and run Towards the Marar Plain, Where a dark horseman rides the waste With dust-cloud for a train. XI. "The horseman reins his foam-fleckt steed, Leans on his broken spear, Wipes his damp brow, and faint begins To tell a tale of fear. XII. "'Where is my son?'--'Go seek him there, Far on the Marar Plain, Where vultures and hyaenas hold Their orgies o'er the slain. XIII. "'We took our arms, we saddled horse, We rode the East countrie, And drove the flocks, and harried herds Betwixt the hills and sea. XIV. "'We drove the flock across the hill, The herd across the wold-- The poorest spearboy had returned That day, a man of gold. XV. "'Bat Awal's children mann'd the vale Where sweet the Arman flowers, Their archers from each bush and tree Rained shafts in venomed showers. XVI. "'Full fifty warriors bold and true Fell as becomes the brave; And whom the arrow spared, the spear Reaped for the ravening grave. XVII. "'Friend of my youth! shall I remain When ye are gone before?' He drew the wood from out his side, And loosed the crimson gore. XVIII. "Falling, he raised his broken spear, Thrice wav'd it o'er his head, Thrice raised the warrior's cry 'revenge!'-- His soul was with the dead.