Page:Lalla Rookh - Moore - 1817.djvu/103

 Swords of God!" the panting CALIPH calls,-- "Thrones for the living--Heaven for him who falls!"-- "On, brave avengers, on," MOKANNA cries, "And EBLIS blast the recreant slave that flies!" Now comes the brunt, the crisis of the day-- They clash--they strive--the CALIPH'S troops give way! MOKANNA'S self plucks the black Banner down, And now the Orient World's Imperial crown Is just within his grasp--when, hark, that shout! Some hand hath checkt the flying Moslem's rout; And now they turn, they rally--at their head A warrior, (like those angel youths who led, In glorious panoply of Heaven's own mail, The Champions of the Faith thro BEDER'S vale,) Bold as if gifted with ten thousand lives, Turns on the fierce pursuers' blades, and drives At once the multitudinous torrent back-- While hope and courage kindle in his track; And at each step his bloody falchion makes Terrible vistas thro' which victory breaks!