Nor less in number, though more new and rude In warfare’s school, was the vast multitude That, fir’d by zeal, or by oppression wrong’d, Round the white standard of the’ impostor throng’d. Beside his thousands of Believers—blind, Burning and headlong as the Samiel wind— Many who felt, and more who fear’d to feel The bloody Islamite’s converting steel, Flock’d to his banner;—Chiefs of the’ UZBEK race, Waving their heron crests with martial grace;[114] TURKOMANS, countless as their flocks, led forth From the’ aromatic pastures of the North; Wild warriors of the turquoise hills,[115]—and those Who dwell beyond the everlasting snows Of HINDOO KOSH,[116] in stormy freedom bred, Their fort the rock, their camp the torrent’s bed. But none, of all who own’d the Chief’s command, Rush’d to that battle-field with bolder hand, Or sterner hate, than IRAN’S outlaw’d men, Her Worshippers of Fire[117]—all panting then For vengeance on the’ accursed Saracen; Vengeance at last for their dear country spurn’d, Her throne usurp’d, and her bright shrines o’erturned. From YEZD’S[118] eternal Mansion of the Fire, Where aged saints in dreams of Heaven expire: From BADKU, and those fountains of blue flame That burn into the CASPIAN,[119] fierce they came, Careless for what or whom the blow was sped, So vengeance triumph’d, and their tyrants bled. Such was the wild and miscellaneous host, That high in air their motley banners tost Around the Prophet-Chief—all eyes still bent Upon that glittering Veil, where’er it went, That beacon through the battle’s stormy flood, That rainbow of the field, whose showers were blood!