Blest ALLA! who shall save her now? There’s not in all that warrior band One Arab sword, one turban’d brow From her own Faithful Moslem land. Their garb—the leathern belt[280] that wraps Each yellow vest[281]—that rebel hue— The Tartar fleece upon their caps[282]— Yes—yes—her fears are all too true, And Heaven hath, in this dreadful hour, Abandon’d her to HAFED’S power;— HAFED, the Gheber!—at the thought Her very heart’s blood chills within; He, whom her soul was hourly taught To loathe, as some foul fiend of sin, Some minister, whom Hell had sent To spread its blast, where’er he went, And fling, as o’er our earth he trod, His shadow betwixt man and God! And she is now his captive,—thrown In his fierce hands, alive, alone; His the infuriate band she sees, All infidels—all enemies! What was the daring hope that then Cross’d her like lightning, as again, With boldness that despair had lent, She darted through that armed crowd A look so searching, so intent, That e’en the sternest warrior bow’d Abash’d, when he her glances caught, As if he guess’d whose form they sought. But no—she sees him not—’tis gone, The vision that before her shone Through all the maze of blood and storm, Is fled—’twas but a phantom form— One of those passing, rainbow dreams, Half light, half shade, which Fancy’s beams Paint on the fleeting mists that roll In trance or slumber round the soul. But now the bark, with livelier bound, Scales the blue wave—the crew’s in motion, The oars are out, and with light sound Break the bright mirror of the ocean, Scattering its brilliant fragments round. And now she sees—with horror sees, Their course is tow’rd that mountain-hold,— Those towers, that make her life-blood freeze, Where MECCA’S godless enemies Lie, like beleaguer’d scorpions, roll’d In their last deadly, venomous fold! Amid the’ illumin’d land and flood Sunless that mighty mountain stood; Save where, above its awful head, There shone a flaming cloud, blood-red, As ’twere the flag of destiny Hung out to mark where death would be!