But vain at length his arts—despair is seen Gathering around; and famine comes to glean All that the sword had left unreap’d:—in vain At morn and eve across the northern plain He looks impatient for the promis’d spears Of the wild Hordes and TARTAR mountaineers; They come not—while his fierce beleaguerers pour Engines of havoc in, unknown before,[141] And horrible as new;[142]—javelins, that fly Enwreath’d with smoky flames through the dark sky, And red-hot globes, that, opening as they mount, Discharge, as from a kindled Naphtha fount,[143] Showers of consuming fire o’er all below; Looking, as through the’ illumin’d night they go, Like those wild birds[144] that by the Magians oft, At festivals of fire, were sent aloft Into the air, with blazing faggots tied To their huge wings, scattering combustion wide. All night the groans of wretches who expire In agony, beneath these darts of fire, Ring through the city—while, descending o’er Its shrines and domes and streets of sycamore,— Its lone bazaars, with their bright cloths of gold, Since the last peaceful pageant left unroll’d,— Its beauteous marble baths, whose idle jets Now gush with blood,—and its tall minarets, That late have stood up in the evening glare Of the red sun, unhallow’d by a prayer;— O’er each, in turn, the dreadful flame-bolts fall, And death and conflagration throughout all The desolate city hold high festival! MOKANNA sees the world is his no more;— One sting at parting, and his grasp is o’er. “What! drooping now?”—thus, with unblushing cheek, He hails the few, who yet can hear him speak, Of all those famish’d slaves around him lying, And by the light of blazing temples dying;— “What!—drooping now?—now, when at length we press “Home o’er the very threshold of success; “When ALLA from our ranks hath thinn’d away “Those grosser branches, that kept out his ray “Of favour from us, and we stand at length “Heirs of his light and children of his strength, “The chosen few, who shall survive the fall “Of Kings and Thrones, triumphant over all! “Have you then lost, weak murmurers as you are, “All faith in him, who was your Light, your Star? “Have you forgot the eye of glory, hid “Beneath this Veil, the flashing of whose lid “Could, like a sun-stroke of the desert, wither “Millions of such as yonder Chief brings hither? “Long have its lightnings slept—too long—but now “All earth shall feel the’ unveiling of this brow! “To-night—yes, sainted men! this very night, “I bid you all to a fair festal rite, “Where—having deep refresh’d each weary limb “With viands, such as feast Heaven’s cherubim, “And kindled up your souls, now sunk and dim, “With that pure wine the Dark-ey’d Maids above “Keep, seal’d with precious musk, for those they love,[145]— “I will myself uncurtain in your sight “The wonders of this brow’s ineffable light;