Up rose the Dervise with that burst of light, Nor less his change of form appalled the sight: Up rose that Dervise--not in saintly garb, 750 But like a warrior bounding on his barb, Dashed his high cap, and tore his robe away-- Shone his mailed breast, and flashed his sabre's ray! His close but glittering casque, and sable plume, More glittering eye, and black brow's sabler gloom, Glared on the Moslems' eyes some Afrit Sprite, Whose demon death-blow left no hope for fight. The wild confusion, and the swarthy glow Of flames on high, and torches from below; The shriek of terror, and the mingling yell-- 760 For swords began to clash, and shouts to swell-- Flung o'er that spot of earth the air of Hell! Distracted, to and fro, the flying slaves Behold but bloody shore and fiery waves; Nought heeded they the Pacha's angry cry, _They_ seize that Dervise!--seize on Zatanai![216] He saw their terror--checked the first despair That urged him but to stand and perish there, Since far too early and too well obeyed, The flame was kindled ere the signal made; 770 He saw their terror--from his baldric drew His bugle--brief the blast--but shrilly blew; 'Tis answered--"Well ye speed, my gallant crew! Why did I doubt their quickness of career? And deem design had left me single here?" Sweeps his long arm--that sabre's whirling sway Sheds fast atonement for its first delay; Completes his fury, what their fear begun, And makes the many basely quail to one. The cloven turbans o'er the chamber spread, 780 And scarce an arm dare rise to guard its head: Even Seyd, convulsed, o'erwhelmed, with rage, surprise, Retreats before him, though he still defies. No craven he--and yet he dreads the blow, So much Confusion magnifies his foe! His blazing galleys still distract his sight, He tore his beard, and foaming fled the fight;[217] For now the pirates passed the Haram gate, And burst within--and it were death to wait; Where wild Amazement shrieking--kneeling--throws 790 The sword aside--in vain--the blood o'erflows! The Corsairs pouring, haste to where within Invited Conrad's bugle, and the din Of groaning victims, and wild cries for life, Proclaimed how well he did the work of strife. They shout to find him grim and lonely there, A glutted tiger mangling in his lair! But short their greeting, shorter his reply-- "'Tis well--but Seyd escapes--and he must die-- Much hath been done--but more remains to do-- 800 Their galleys blaze--why not their city too?" V.