The Russian camp lay at the foot Of a bold and lofty hill, Where many a noble tree had root, And babbled many a rill; And the rill's laughter and the shade-- The melody and shade combin'd-- Men of most gentle feelings made, But of unbending mind. On that hill's side, concealed by trees, Slumber'd Circassia's might, Awaiting till the war-horse neighs His welcome to the light. The first gray light broke forth at length, And with it rose the Invader's strength. Now, if the Vulture, reasoning bird, Foretelling blood and scenting strife, Had not among the hill-clouds stirr'd, One would have said that human life, Save that of shepherds tending flocks, Breathed not among yon silent rocks. What Spectre, gliding tow'rd the rays Of rising sun, meets Russian gaze, And is it fright, amaze, or awe, Distends each eye and hangs each jaw? A Horse, as snow on mountain height, His master clothed all, too, in white, Moved slowly up the mountain's side, Arching his neck in conscious pride. And though the cannon pointed stood, Charged with its slumb'ring lava flood, The rider gave no spur nor stroke, Nor did he touch the rein which lay Upon the horse's neck--who yoke Of spur nor rein did e'er obey. His master's voice he knew--the horse, And by it checked or strain'd his course. But even no voice was needed now, For when he reach'd the mountain's brow, He halted while his master spread His arms full wide, threw back his head, And pour'd to Allah forth a pray'r-- Or seem'd to pray--for Russian ear Even in that pure atmosphere, The name of Allah 'lone could hear. The sound, whose purport is to name God's name--it is an awful sound, No matter from what lips it came, Or in what form 'tis found-- Jehovah! Allah! God alike, Most Christian heart with terror strike. For ignorant as may be man, Or with perverted learning stored, There is, within the soul's wide span, A deep unutterable word. A music, and a hymn, Which any voice of love that breaks From pious spirit gently wakes, Like slumb'ring Cherubim. And "Allah, Allah, Allah!" rose More thrilling still for Russian foes By Russian eyes unseen! Behind a thick wood's screen, Circassia's dreadful horsemen were Bowed to the earth, and drinking there Enthusiasm grand from pray'r, Ready to spring as soldier fir'd, When soldier is a Priest inspir'd. Ay, o'er that host the sacred name Of Allah rolled, a scorching flame, That thrilled into the heart's deep core, And swelled it like a heaving ocean Visited by Tempest's roar. Invader! such sublime emotion Bodes thee no good--so do not mock The sacred sound which fills each rock.