His bloody boast was all too true; There lurk’d one wretch among the few Whom HAFED’S eagle eye could count Around him on that Fiery Mount,— One miscreant, who for gold betray’d The pathway through the valley’s shade To those high towers, where Freedom stood In her last hold of flame and blood. Left on the field last dreadful night, When, sallying from their Sacred height, The Ghebers fought hope’s farewell fight, He lay—but died not with the brave; That sun, which should have gilt his grave, Saw him a traitor and a slave;— And, while the few, who thence return’d To their high rocky fortress mourn’d For him among the matchless dead They left behind on glory’s bed, He liv’d, and, in the face of morn, Laugh’d them and Faith and Heaven to scorn. Oh for a tongue to curse the slave, Whose treason, like a deadly blight, Comes o’er the councils of the brave, And blasts them in their hour of might! May Life’s unblessed cup for him Be drugg’d with treacheries to the brim,— With hopes, that but allure to fly, With joys, that vanish while he sips, Like Dead Sea fruits, that tempt the eye, But turn to ashes on the lips![264] His country’s curse, his children’s shame, Outcast of virtue, peace, and fame, May he, at last, with lips of flame On the parch’d desert thirsting die,— While lakes, that shone in mockery nigh,[265] Are fading off, untouch’d, untasted, Like the once glorious hopes he blasted! And, when from earth his spirit flies, Just Prophet, let the damn’d one dwell Full in the sight of Paradise, Beholding heaven, and feeling hell! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LALLA ROOKH had, the night before, been visited by a dream which, in spite of the impending fate of poor HAFED, made her heart more than usually cheerful during the morning, and gave her cheeks all the freshened animation of a flower that the Bid-musk had just passed over.[266] She fancied that she was sailing on that Eastern Ocean, where the sea-gipsies, who live for ever on the water,[267] enjoy a perpetual summer in wandering from isle to isle, when she saw a small gilded bark approaching her. It was like one of those boats which the Maldivian islanders send adrift, at the mercy of winds and waves, loaded with perfumes, flowers, and odoriferous wood, as an offering to the Spirit whom they call King of the Sea. At first, this little bark appeared to be empty, but, on coming nearer⸺