Page:Lalla Rookh - Moore - 1817.djvu/105

 Yet now, the rush of fugitives, too strong For human force, hurries even him along; In vain he struggles mid the wedged array Of flying thousands--he is borne away; And the sole joy his baffled spirit knows, In this forced flight, is--murdering as he goes! As a grim tiger whom the torrent's might Surprises in some parched ravine at night, Turns even in drowning on the wretched flocks Swept with him in that snow-flood from the rocks, And, to the last, devouring on his way, Bloodies the stream lie hath not power to stay.

"Alla illa Alla!"--the glad shout renew-- "Alla Akbar"--the Caliph's in MEROU. Hang out your gilded tapestry in the streets, And light your shrines and chant your ziraleets. The swords of God have triumpht--on his throne Your Caliph sits and the veiled Chief hath flown. Who does not envy that young warrior now To whom the Lord of Islam bends his brow,