The Tartar lighted at the gate, But scarce upheld his fainting weight![dt] 710 His swarthy visage spake distress, But this might be from weariness; His garb with sanguine spots was dyed, But these might be from his courser's side; He drew the token from his vest-- Angel of Death! 'tis Hassan's cloven crest! His calpac[103] rent--his caftan red-- "Lady, a fearful bride thy Son hath wed: Me, not from mercy, did they spare, But this empurpled pledge to bear. 720 Peace to the brave! whose blood is spilt: Woe to the Giaour! for his the guilt." * * * * * A Turban[104] carved in coarsest stone, A Pillar with rank weeds o'ergrown, Whereon can now be scarcely read The Koran verse that mourns the dead, Point out the spot where Hassan fell A victim in that lonely dell. There sleeps as true an Osmanlie As e'er at Mecca bent the knee; 730 As ever scorned forbidden wine, Or prayed with face towards the shrine, In orisons resumed anew At solemn sound of "Alla Hu!"[105] Yet died he by a stranger's hand, And stranger in his native land; Yet died he as in arms he stood, And unavenged, at least in blood. But him the maids of Paradise Impatient to their halls invite, 740 And the dark heaven of Houris' eyes On him shall glance for ever bright; They come--their kerchiefs green they wave,[106] And welcome with a kiss the brave! Who falls in battle 'gainst a Giaour Is worthiest an immortal bower. * * * * *