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As of a joyous infant waked and playing
With its dead mother's breast, and now more
The mingled battle-cry, -ha! hear I not «Εν τούτῳ νίκη.” "Alla-illah-Allah!"
The sulphurous mist is raised-thou seest
As of two mountains in the wall of Stam
And in that ghastly breach the Islamites,
Stand in the light of sunrise. In the dust
Into the gap, and with his iron mace
he is- Mahomet!
What thou seest
Is but the ghost of thy forgotten dream.
Thou mayst now learn how the full tide of power
With tears and toil, thou seest the mortal throes Of that whose birth was but the same. The
Now stands before thee like an Incarnation
Of the To-come; yet wouldst thou commune with
That portion of thyself which was ere thou Didst start for this brief race whose crown is
Dissolve with that strong faith and fervent
Which called it from the uncreated deep,
Of raging death; and draw with mighty will
Thence whither thou must go! The grave is
To take the living than give up the dead;
Of strange lament soothe my supreme repose, Wailing for glory never to return. —
A later Empire nods in its decay:
Boundless and mute; and for thy subjects thou,
Mutinous passions, and conflicting fears,
Stript of their mortal strength, as thou of thine.
Unfold itself even in the shape of that
Which gathers birth in its decay. Woe! woe! To the weak people tangled in the grasp
Of its last spasms.
Spirit, woe to all!
Woe to the wronged and the avenger! Woe
Woe both to those that suffer and inflict;
Those who are born and those who die! but
Imperial shadow of the thing I am,
When, how, by whom, Destruction must ac
Ask the cold pale Hour,
Rich in reversion of impending death,