Page:Tales and Historic Scenes.pdf/13

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They perish'd—not as heroes should have died, On the red field, in victory's hour of pride, In all the glow and sunshine of their fame, And proudly smiling as the death-pang came: Oh! had they thus expired, a warrior's tear Had flow'd, almost in triumph, o'er their bier. For thus alone the brave should weep for those, Who brightly pass in glory to repose. —Not such their fate—a tyrant's stern command, Doom'd them to fall by some ignoble hand, As, with the flower of all their high-born race, Summon'd, Abdallah's royal feast to grace, Fearless in heart, no dream of danger nigh, They sought the banquet's gilded hall—to die. Betray'd, unarm'd, they fell—the fountain wave Flow'd crimson with the life-blood of the brave, Till far the fearful tidings of their fate Through the wide city rung from gate to gate, And of that lineage each surviving son Rush'd to the scene where vengeance might be won.

For this young Hamet mingles in the strife, Leader of battle, prodigal of life,