Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/157



Mark, mark yon green turban That heaves through the fight, Like a tempest-tost bark 'Mid the thunders of night; See parting before it, On right and on left, How the dark billows tumble,— Each saucy crest cleft! Ay, horseman and footman Reel back in dismay, When the sword of stern Ouglo Is lifted to slay. Allah, il allah!

Alla, il allah! Tchassan Ouglou is on! O'er the Infidel breast Hath his fiery barb gone:— The bullets rain on him, They fall thick as hail; The lances crash round him Like reeds in the gale,— But onward, still onward, For God and his law,