Is that with eyebrows white, and slanting brow? Listen! him yonder who bound down supine, Shrinks yelling from that sword there engine-hung; He too among my ancestors?” “O King! Iberia bore him, but the breed accursed Inclement winds blew blighting from north-east.” “He was a warrior then, nor feared the gods?” “Gebir, he feared the Demons, not the Gods; Though them indeed his daily face adored, And was no warrior, yet the thousand lives Squandered as stones to exercise a sling! And the tame cruelty and cold caprice— Oh, madness of mankind! addressed, adored! O Gebir! what are men, or where are gods! Behold the giant next him, how his feet Plunge floundering mid the marshes yellow-flowered, His restless head just reaching to the rocks, His bosom tossing with black weeds besmeared, How writhes he twixt the continent and isle! What tyrant with more insolence e’er claimed Dominion? when from the heart of Usury Rose more intense the pale-flamed thirst for gold? And called forsooth _Deliverer_! False or fools Who praised the dull-eared miscreant, or who hoped To soothe your folly and disgrace with praise! Hearest thou not the harp’s gay simpering air And merriment afar? then come, advance; And now behold him! mark the wretch accursed Who sold his people to a rival king— Self-yoked they stood two ages unredeemed.” “Oh, horror! what pale visage rises there? Speak, Aroar! me perhaps mine eyes deceive, Inured not, yet methinks they there descry Such crimson haze as sometimes drowns the moon. What is yon awful sight? why thus appears That space between the purple and the crown?” “I will relate their stories when we reach Our confines,” said the guide; “for thou, O king, Differing in both from all thy countrymen, Seest not their stories and hast seen their fates. But while we tarry, lo again the flame Riseth, and murmuring hoarse, points straighter, haste! ’Tis urgent, we must hence.” “Then, oh, adieu!” Cried Gebir, and groaned loud, at last a tear Burst from his eyes turned back, and he exclaimed, “Am I deluded? O ye powers of hell, Suffer me—Oh, my fathers!—am I torn—” He spake, and would have spoken more, but flames Enwrapped him round and round intense; he turned, And stood held breathless in a ghost’s embrace. “Gebir, my son, desert me not! I heard Thy calling voice, nor fate withheld me more: One moment yet remains; enough to know Soon will my torments, soon will thine, expire. Oh, that I e’er exacted such a vow! When dipping in the victim’s blood thy hand, First thou withdrew’st it, looking in my face Wondering; but when the priest my will explained, Then swearest thou, repeating what he said, How against Egypt thou wouldst raise that hand And bruise the seed first risen from our line. Therefore in death what pangs have I endured!