’Twas stillness all—the winds that late Had rush’d through KERMAN’S almond groves, And shaken from her bowers of date That cooling feast the traveller loves,[285] Now, lull’d to languor, scarcely curl The Green Sea wave, whose waters gleam Limpid, as if her mines of pearl Were melted all to form the stream: And her fair islets, small and bright, With their green shores reflected there, Look like those PERI isles of light, That hang by spell-work in the air. But vainly did those glories burst On HINDA’S dazzled eyes, when first The bandage from her brow was taken, And, pale and aw’d as those who waken In their dark tombs—when, scowling near, The Searchers of the Grave[286] appear,— She shuddering turn’d to read her fate In the fierce eyes that flash’d around; And saw those towers all desolate, That o’er her head terrific frown’d, As if defying e’en the smile Of that soft heaven to gild their pile. In vain, with mingled hope and fear, She looks for him whose voice so dear Had come, like music, to her ear— Strange, mocking dream! again ’tis fled. And oh, the shoots, the pangs of dread That through her inmost bosom run, When voices from without proclaim “HAFED, the Chief”—and, one by one, The warriors shout that fearful name! He comes—the rock resounds his tread— How shall she dare to lift her head, Or meet those eyes whose scorching glare Not YEMEN’S boldest sons can bear? In whose red beam, the Moslem tells, Such rank and deadly lustre dwells, As in those hellish fires that light The mandrake’s charnel leaves at night.[287] How shall she bear that voice’s tone, At whose loud battle-cry alone Whole squadrons oft in panic ran, Scatter’d like some vast caravan, When, stretch’d at evening round the well, They hear the thirsting tiger’s yell! Breathless she stands, with eyes cast down, Shrinking beneath the fiery frown, Which, fancy tells her, from that brow Is flashing o’er her fiercely now: And shuddering as she hears the tread Of his retiring warrior band.— Never was pause so full of dread; Till HAFED with a trembling hand Took hers, and, leaning o’er her, said, “HINDA;”—that word was all he spoke, And ’twas enough—the shriek that broke From her full bosom, told the rest.— Panting with terror, joy, surprise, The maid but lifts her wondering eyes, To hide them on her Gheber’s breast! ’Tis he, ’tis he—the man of blood, The fellest of the Fire-fiend’s brood, HAFED, the demon of the fight, Whose voice unnerves, whose glances blight,— Is her own loved Gheber, mild And glorious as when first he smil’d In her lone tower, and left such beams Of his pure eye to light her dreams, That she believ’d her bower had given Rest to some wanderer from heaven!