Such were the tales, that won belief, And such the colouring Fancy gave To a young, warm, and dauntless Chief,— One who, no more than mortal brave, Fought for the land his soul ador’d, For happy homes and altars free,— His only talisman, the sword, His only spell-word, Liberty! One of that ancient hero line, Along whose glorious current shine Names, that have sanctified their blood; As LEBANON’S small mountain-flood Is render’d holy by the ranks Of sainted cedars on its banks.[248] ’Twas not for him to crouch the knee Tamely to Moslem tyranny; ’Twas not for him, whose soul was cast In the bright mould of ages past, Whose melancholy spirit, fed With all the glories of the dead, Though fram’d for IRAN’S happiest years, Was born among her chains and tears!— ’Twas not for him to swell the crowd Of slavish heads, that shrinking bow’d Before the Moslem, as he pass’d, Like shrubs beneath the poison-blast— No—far he fled—indignant fled The pageant of his country’s shame; While every tear her children shed Fell on his soul like drops of flame; And, as a lover hails the dawn Of a first smile, so welcom’d he The sparkle of the first sword drawn For vengeance and for liberty! But vain was valour—vain the flower Of KERMAN, in that deathful hour, Against AL HASSAN’S whelming power.— In vain they met him, helm to helm, Upon the threshold of that realm He came in bigot pomp to sway, And with their corpses block’d his way— In vain—for every lance they rais’d, Thousands around the conqueror blaz’d; For every arm that lin’d their shore, Myriads of slaves were wafted o’er,— A bloody, bold, and countless crowd, Before whose swarm as fast they bow’d As dates beneath the locust cloud. There stood—but one short league away From old HARMOZIA’S sultry bay— A rocky mountain, o’er the Sea Of OMAN beetling awfully:[249] A last and solitary link Of those stupendous chains that reach From the broad Caspian’s reedy brink Down winding to the Green Sea beach. Around its base the bare rocks stood, Like naked giants, in the flood, As if to guard the Gulf across; While, on its peak, that brav’d the sky, A ruin’d Temple tower’d, so high That oft the sleeping albatross[250] Struck the wild ruins with her wing, And from her cloud-rock’d slumbering Started—to find man’s dwelling there In her own silent fields of air! Beneath, terrific caverns gave Dark welcome to each stormy wave That dash’d, like midnight revellers, in;— And such the strange, mysterious din At times throughout those caverns roll’d,— And such the fearful wonders told Of restless sprites imprison’d there, That bold were Moslem, who would dare, At twilight hour, to steer his skiff Beneath the Gheber’s lonely cliff.[251]