There was a deep ravine, that lay Yet darkling in the Moslem’s way; Fit spot to make invaders rue The many fallen before the few. The torrents from that morning’s sky Had fill’d the narrow chasm breast high, And, on each side, aloft and wild, Huge cliffs and toppling crags were pil’d,— The guards with which young Freedom lines The pathways to her mountain-shrines. Here, at this pass, the scanty band Of IRAN’S last avengers stand; Here wait, in silence like the dead, And listen for the Moslem’s tread So anxiously, the carrion-bird Above them flaps his wing unheard! They come—that plunge into the water Gives signal for the work of slaughter. Now, Ghebers, now—if e’er your blades Had point or prowess, prove them now— Woe to the file that foremost wades! They come—a falchion greets each brow, And, as they tumble, trunk on trunk, Beneath the gory waters sunk, Still o’er their drowning bodies press New victims quick and numberless; Till scarce an arm in HAFED’S band, So fierce their toil, hath power to stir, But listless from each crimson hand The sword hangs, clogg’d with massacre. Never was horde of tyrants met With bloodier welcome—never yet To patriot vengeance hath the sword More terrible libations pour’d! All up the dreary, long ravine, By the red, murky glimmer seen Of half-quench’d brands that o’er the flood Lie scatter’d round and burn in blood, What ruin glares! what carnage swims! Heads, blazing turbans, quivering limbs, Lost swords that, dropp’d from many a hand, In that thick pool of slaughter stand;— Wretches who wading, half on fire From the toss’d brands that round them fly, ’Twixt flood and flame in shrieks expire;— And some who, grasp’d by those that die, Sink woundless with them, smother’d o’er In their dead brethren’s gushing gore! But vainly hundreds, thousands bleed, Still hundreds, thousands more succeed; Countless as tow’rds some flame at night The North’s dark insects wing their flight, And quench or perish in its light, To this terrific spot they pour— Till, bridg’d with Moslem bodies o’er, It bears aloft their slippery tread, And o’er the dying and the dead, Tremendous causeway! on they pass. Then, hapless Ghebers, then, alas, What hope was left for you? for you, Whose yet warm pile of sacrifice Is smoking in their vengeful eyes?— Whose swords how keen, how fierce they knew, And burn with shame to find how few? Crush’d down by that vast multitude, Some found their graves where first they stood; While some with hardier struggle died, And still fought on by HAFED’S side, Who, fronting to the foe, trod back Tow’rds the high towers his gory track; And, as a lion swept away By sudden swell of JORDAN’S pride From the wild covert where he lay,[295] Long battles with the o’erwhelming tide, So fought he back with fierce delay, And kept both foes and fate at bay.