“Then lead you forth, and with a wink disperse “Yon myriads, howling through the universe!” Eager they listen—while each accent darts New life into their chill’d and hope-sick hearts; Such treacherous life as the cool draught supplies To him upon the stake, who drinks and dies! Wildly they point their lances to the light Of the fast sinking sun, and shout “To-night!”— “To-night,” their Chief re-echoes in a voice Of fiend-like mockery that bids hell rejoice. Deluded victims!—never hath this earth Seen mourning half so mournful as their mirth. _Here_, to the few, whose iron frames had stood This racking waste of famine and of blood, Faint, dying wretches clung, from whom the shout Of triumph like a maniac’s laugh broke out:— _There_, others, lighted by the smould’ring fire, Danc’d like wan ghosts about a funeral pyre, Among the dead and dying, strew’d around;— While some pale wretch look’d on, and from his wound Plucking the fiery dart by which he bled, In ghastly transport wav’d it o’er his head! ’Twas more than midnight now—a fearful pause Had follow’d the long shouts, the wild applause, That lately from those Royal Gardens burst, Where the Veil’d demon held his feast accurst, When ZELICA—alas, poor ruin’d heart, In every horror doom’d to bear its part!— Was bidden to the banquet by a slave, Who, while his quivering lip the summons gave, Grew black, as though the shadows of the grave Compass’d him round, and, ere he could repeat His message through, fell lifeless at her feet! Shuddering she went—a soul-felt pang of fear, A presage that her own dark doom was near, Rous’d every feeling, and brought Reason back Once more, to writhe her last upon the rack. All round seem’d tranquil—even the foe had ceas’d, As if aware of that demoniac feast, His fiery bolts; and though the heavens look’d red, ’Twas but some distant conflagration’s spread. But hark—she stops—she listens—dreadful tone, ’Tis her Tormentor’s laugh—and now, a groan, A long death-groan comes with it:—can this be The place of mirth, the bower of revelry? She enters—Holy ALLA, what a sight Was there before her! By the glimmering light Of the pale dawn, mix’d with the flare of brands That round lay burning, dropp’d from lifeless hands, She saw the board, in splendid mockery spread, Rich censers breathing—garlands overhead— The urns, the cups, from which they late had quaff’d, All gold and gems, but—what had been the draught? Oh! who need ask, that saw those livid guests, With their swoll’n heads sunk black’ning on their breasts, Or looking pale to Heaven with glassy glare, As if they sought but saw no mercy there; As if they felt, though poison rack’d them through, Remorse the deadlier torment of the two! While some, the bravest, hardiest in the train Of their false Chief, who on the battle-plain Would have met death with transport by his side,