Night hangs o'er Nineveh: the winds are still;
The rain hath ceased; the thunders are gone by.
From out the rocky, slowly rolling clouds,
With melancholy eye, the waning moon
Looks fitfully. Their arms to the pale light
Obscurely glimmering, on the lofty walls
Pace slowly the o'erwearied sentinels.
Exhausted with that day of blood and toil,
Soundly the warriors slumber: but the king
Rests not; for of the battle are his thoughts;
And of the things to come. Twice from his couch
He sprang, and bade the captains of his host
Be called before him; ''while the rebel sleeps,
My armies shall go forth, and trample him;''
And twice, when on the night he looked abroad,
And on the toils of that long conflict thought,
The mandate he recalled. Next, on the seer,
And that strange prophecy, so pondered he,
That terror chilled him; and impatiently,
Sick to the heart, aloud he called for wine.
But Peresh, who in chamber nigh kept watch,
Hearing, went forth, and, lowly bowing down,
Entreated him forbear; ''Yet, of the cup
That I have mingled, wilt thou deign to drink,
Thy pain shall pass; and grateful slumber come.''
To him the king; ''No more; a second time,
Would'st thou Assyria to her base might shake,
While I, that should uphold her, idly sleep?
Thy slumbrous draught, be sure, I taste not now;
Yet, for I know thee skilful, from the grape
I also will abstain: content thee so.
But not upon this hot and restless bed,
With brain delirious, longer will I lie:
Go; bid the marble hall be lighted up:
By the cool fountain let my couch be placed:
Call up my concubines; with song and dance
They shall rejoice me: bid the music speak
While I arise; and every face be glad;
For, of these black, and heart--corroding thoughts,
I will not be the slave.'' He said, and rose.
The trembling leech in silence went: and, soon,
Near to the chamber, instrument and voice
Brought smile on frowning night. In haste the king
His robes threw on; but, suddenly, made pause,
And bade the music cease; for, in his soul,
The darkness came again, as on the seer
His thoughts returned, and those forebodings dread.
Within himself then thus: ''Of fantasy
Am I the trembling fool--the threatened ill,
Fearfully pondering thus? Or doth, in truth,
The gifted eye through the dark future look
On things by Fate decreed? But other seers,
With eye as keen, the mystic book may read;
And better auguries, perchance, behold:
Or, even if worst, yet happier were I so,
Trebly assured, than thus in doubt involved;
Since evil, certain, lighter to endure,
Than fear of ills unknown.'' For Peresh then
He called, and thus: ''Prophet, or sage, know'st thou,
Magician, or astrologer--wise to read,
And true to expound, the book of destiny?''

To him, low bowing, the physician thus:
''Through all the earth renowned, O king of kings!
From Time's first dawn, have been Chaldea's seers.
Astrologers, interpreters of dreams,
Many there are, and cunning: but thy priests,
They, too, by signs, and victims'' . . . . ''Nought of them,''
With hasty interruption said the king;
''Wrongly they read, or falsely they expound;
Deceived, or else deceivers; either way
Of trust unworthy. Get thee forth at once;
And who, by magic, or that greater art,
In heaven's bright eyes to read man's destiny,--
For, if, in truth, of mortal weal or woe
Stars aught declare,--of empires and of kings
Surely the doom they tell,--who, in these arts,
The wisest, and most potent, is allowed,
Him straightway bring before me.'' Bending low,
Peresh withdrew. With darkened brow, the king
Along the silent chamber, to and fro,
Paced slowly: paused at length; and toward the field,
Awe--stricken looked. Like stillness of the corse,
From life's hot conflict resting,--gloomily,
Beneath the dim light lay the gory plain.
Like to the blackened ashes, cold and dead,
Wherein so lately had the Spirit of fire
Triumphantly his flaming banners waved,--
The silent battle--field, a drear obscure,
Grimly reposed; shield, helmet, falchion, spear,
Corslet, and broken chariot,--never more
Their owners' proud arms in the fight to aid,--
To the cold moon--beam gleaming. In his heart,
The stillness, and the desolation, spake
With more than trumpet--tongue; thoughts calling up
Such as, till then, within him ne'er had waked:
Motionless, rapt, he stood; sighs breaking forth,
And heart--heaved groans. With gentle hand, at length,
His arm was touched; and, when he turned, behold!
Azubah stood before him; and, with voice
Mild as the brooding dove; 'tween her soft palms
His hot hand pressing; her pale cheek, and eye,
With tear--drops bright, after short silence, thus.
''Is thy soul troubled, and shall I not soothe?
Shall I not sing the songs that thou hast loved?
The tales shall I not tell that gladdened thee?
Hast thou not triumphed? wherefore art thou sad?
Go to thy couch; and I the harp will wake
To gentlest music, that thy wounded mind,
As with kind balm, shall heal; and softest songs
I'll breathe to thee; that slumber sweet shall fall;
And lull thy sorrows to forgetfulness.''

To her the king,--upon her cheek, a kiss,
Tenderly pressing; ''If soft witchery
Of music could my sick heart heal, by thee,
Thee only, might the blessed charm be wrought:
But all within me now is dark and dread;
Mine eye in beauty findeth no delight,
Nor in sweet sounds mine ear: the bloody field,
Cries, groans, and sights of pain, and ghastly death,
Torture my soul, and comfort quite shut out.
And, for the days to come, o'er them hangs night,
With shapes of terror filled, that from the gloom
Look out, and threaten. Leave me, then, alone:
Music, nor soft discourse, for me hath charms;
But silence only, and this solitude.
Go thou unto thy couch; and visions bright,
To happier scenes, thy gentle spirit bear.''

His hand she kissed, and went. He, to and fro,
In melancholy musing, walked; and found
No ray to cheer his gloom. But Peresh now,
With the astrologer, came before the king;
Bowed humbly, and withdrew. A little while,
Silent the monarch stood; upon the form,
And features of the man, with searching eye,
Intently gazing. He, before the king
Bent reverent; and, with eyes cast down, stood mute.
Dark red his ample robes: around his waist
A silver serpent, double--headed, coiled;
In his right hand, a serpent, for a rod,
He held; a silver serpent, round a stem
Of gold entwined: the jaws wide open stood;
Pearls were the teeth, the eyes of carbuncle,
The waving tongue was ruby. On his breast,--
With unknown signs and mystic letters graven;
Figures of man, and beast, in mixture strange;
Planets, and sun, and moon,--a broad bright plate
Of gold was bound. His head was bald with age;
His long beard snowy white: yet was his form
Strong, and majestic: and his large gray eye,
'Neath his broad furrowed brow, burned steadily.

To him, at length, the king: ''The strength of youth
Seems in thy limbs; but, on thy forehead, years
Have left their footprints. Such should be the wise.
Tell me, old man; by your mysterious art,
Can ye, in verity, with clear eye pierce
The dark to--come; and the decrees of Fate
Surely interpret? or, with erring aim,
At the invisible thing do ye but shoot
Subtle conjecture, chance--directed all?
Or, rather, with mysterious show and pomp
Your ignorance veiling, blind ye not the sight
Of your weak, trusting victims; first your spoil,
And, at the last, your mockery? But, beware!
Nor with the monarch trifle; for his wrath
Is hard to be endured. Thy name declare;
Thy power, and whence it comes: and, be it good,
Or be it evil, which thine eye foresees,
When in the dark of time I bid thee look;
Say it, and fear not.'' Raising then his head,
Thus to the king the aged astrologer spake:
''May the king live for ever! To his words,
His servant shall reply. Do not the heavens
Hang out their signs; sun, moon, and countless stars,
Wandering, or fixed; of seasons, cold, or heat,
Winds, thunders, floods, prognosticating still?
Shall not a raindrop, unforeboded, fall?
Yet, shall an empire flourish, or decay;
Battle be lost, or won; great kings be born,
Or pass away, and not one omen cry,
Lo! this thing cometh? Surely as the cloud,
After long drought arising, doth the rain
Declare at hand,--so surely, in the heavens
The signs proclaim, when God the doom of man,
Evil, or good, decrees. In words of light
The judgment standeth; but, to few made known.
With eye unerring, never man hath read;
To error prone, the wisest. Darkly, some,
With knowledge crude, have guessed; yet, vainly bold,
Said, 'thus it shall be': some, and far the most,
Blind, and presumptuous; hypocrites, and cheats;
With show of wisdom, tricks, and cunning lies,
Their ignorance and impotence conceal;
Weak men to lure, and make of them their prey:
The art divine debasing thus, mean ends,
Selfish and base, to serve. Yet, not from such,
Of all the judgment be; since, of a truth,
To him that readeth, do the heavens declare,
Yea the bright gods themselves, the will of God.
Hence are the wisdom and the power I claim;
That to predict which God with visible hand
Hath in heaven's scroll set down: by word, or charm,
Forbidden, seeking not the dead to raise,
Or spirits evil,--from their mouths, enforced,
The hidden things to learn; knowledge accurst!
And powerful but to ill! Mophis, my name:
Chaldean born; and of a race, by fame
Not all unnoted. Of the future aught
If thou, O king! wouldst ask,--with fearless tongue,
To lies unused; far as mine eye can pierce
The darksome Vast, I will respond to thee.''

His words the monarch's doubting mind assured:
Then, of Assyria's fate, and of his own,
Much he enquired: but answers dark and vague
Received; that to his heart no comfort gave;
Nor certainty of aught. With lowering brow,
At length, thus sternly: ''Stay,--I'll hear no more.
That nothing can be known, thou'st made me know;
And much I thank thee. Come what fate may come,
With blind conjectures I no more will make
A torment to my soul. To every day
Sufficient its own evil: let it fall
Undreaded, and but half its sting is felt.
The wretch that is to die, as much endures
From dark foreshadowings, as from death itself.
I will not, like a coward, peep, and quake,
To see the blow descending. The great gods
Are over us; and, what they will, they will.''

So he; and from the table took the cup
In which, untasted, the oblivious draught,
By Peresh tempered, stood: the cup was gold.
This in the old man's hand he placed, and said;
''Take it; and, if more pleasant dreams than thine,--
Vainer thou canst not,--thou wouldst have; the draught
Drink down: else, cast it from thee. Like the gold,
Is real wisdom; but thine idle lore,
Like the thin, dreamy drug.'' With scornful tone,
And look, he spake. The old man lowly bowed,
But answer none returned: yet, in his heart,
Scorn for scorn meted back: ''And what art thou,
Imperious monarch! over all the world
Aping the God, but a frail thing of clay;
A miserable vessel of vile earth;
O'erwashed to look like gold? Heed that the sword
Strike not thy hollow sides; and, breaking, show
The gilded potsherd. But, whatever thou,
Thy gift is golden.'' Thus within himself
The old man said; and went. To his couch again
The monarch sank; and closed his eyes for sleep.
It fled him: for his thoughts, like dogs in chase
Of what they find not, with impatient heat,
Still in the dusky future, to and fro,
Panted, and found no comfort. On the past
Then turned his baffled mind; and, while he thought,
Anger, by short repose made doubly strong,
Terribly shook him. Vengeance he resolved;
Instant and dreadful. Salamenes then
He bade be summoned: ''Surely shall this day
The overthrow of the base rebels see!
Their boldest shall be trampled under foot;
The chains be on their mightiest.'' Speaking thus,
He started up; the chamber, to and fro,
With quick steps paced; and, ever and anon,
Cried, ''Wherefore comes he not? why sleepeth he?''

But Salamenes was already waked:
For, by his couch the care--distracted queen
Stood; stirred him; and thus spake: ''Oh! sleepest thou,
Belovëd brother! in this awful hour,
When our own fate, with all Assyria's, hangs
Doubtfully balanced? Woful is the time!
On yonder plain, how many myriads lie,
Dying, or dead! how many myriads yet,
If the fierce contest be renewed, must fall!
But, is no remedy left? Within thy soul
Take counsel now; and, if aught good thou see,
With speech persuasive, urge it on the king,
That this dread strife may end. For, to the foe
Should he thus say, 'Cast down your rebel arms;
Ask mercy of the king, and he will hear,'--
Surely they now would hearken, and obey!
This in thy heart revolve; and all the chance
Of dangerous warfare: haply, so, the fate
That threatens, may pass by.'' While yet he spake,
Came the quick--panting messenger; and told
The summons of the king. ''I come, I come,''
Said Salamenes; ''Briefly now farewell,
Sister beloved: but speed thou to thy couch.
Not unremembered shall thy counsel be;
For, in thy words is wisdom: but his heart
Is proud, and daring: hope not, lest I fail.''

At once the queen retired. From off his bed
Rose Salamenes then: a silken robe
Around his manly limbs threw hastily;
The glittering girdle clasped; upon his feet
The sandals bound; then, through the spacious courts,
Vast echoing halls, and galleries, to the king,
Deep musing, sped. Him, entering, with sharp tone,
The monarch thus assailed: ''Thou sleepest well:
Pity Assyria's safety, thy soft dreams
Should discompose. . . . . Nay, hearken to me now;
And blame me not, if, all on fire myself,
A spark on thee I cast. On yonder field
What eye can look, nor for swift vengeance burn?
Defeated, yet the impious rebel lives;
Fresh treason ponders. To mature his thought
To action, shall we leave him undisturbed?
Or, while confounded by his first repulse,
Go forth, and utterly crush him? What forbids
That we our conquering hosts, while yet 'tis night,
Lead out, and end him? Not again the storm,
And darkness, from just punishment will shroud
His trembling limbs. The serpent wounded lies;
Writhing, and powerless: but the hateful flesh
Will close again; and all his strength return;
If now we pause, and ply not blow on blow.
Speak, and be brief, if counsel different
Thou wouldst oppose; for, of a wary mind
I know thee, though right valiant: freely speak.

A moment Salamenes silent stood;
Then, with calm tone, to the hot monarch thus.
''The rebel to o'erthrow, if but the will,
The act could be,--not swifter in thy breast,
The wish, O king! than in my own, would rise:
For, though, by labor spent, the flesh may sleep,
My spirit slumbereth not; nor burns my zeal
With ardor less than thine: but toil, and blood;
Wisdom to plan; and valour to enact;
And fortitude to bear,--all will this strife
Demand, and amply. With unbridled rage,
In strength alone, and numbers, confident,
If boastful we go forth, the foe to crush,--
Too soon an awful lesson may we learn,
Our pride to humble. Are their arms less strong
Than yesterday; when, from the hour of noon,
Until the setting of the sun, they stood,
In might superior, though in numbers less;
Even to the gates victorious; till thyself,
Singly to battle coming, in our hearts
New soul infused; our heroes into gods,
Our cowards into heroes, at thy look
Transforming? Nor inglorious, then, the flight;
As well thou know'st. Thy foe know better then;
Nor, like a slave, or child intractable,
By loud command, or lifting of the scourge,
Think to subdue him. Hear my counsel now;
Wiser, I ween, though humbler. Let this day
Be peace betwixt us; while the armies both,
Their dead inter; else, may the infected air
Plagues bring among us, harder to be quelled
Than even this strife. Unto the rebels, then,
Send thou upon the morrow, and thus say:
'To every man that shall his arms lay down,
Repenting; and the mercy of the king
Humbly implore; to him shall mercy come:
And of his guilt'' . . . . . ''Stay, stay; I'll hear no more!
Cold counsellor!'' exclaimed the indignant king:
''My mercy shall be stripes, and bonds, and death;
Nor shall the vengeance linger. Haste; call up
The idle legions: I will issue forth,
And tame yon scum rebellious. Linger not:
The dawn is breaking; and the sun will rouse
The traitors, ere our swords.'' But, urgently,
Still Salamenes pleaded. ''Pause awhile,
Lord of Assyria, and thine anger rule.
This one day, at the least, let warfare sleep;
The dead be buried; lest, if looking down
On such a ghastly field, thy soldiers' hearts
Should sink within them, and their arms be weak.
For peace this one day only do I sue:
What counsels on the morrow thou may take,
That to the morrow leave, and the cool thoughts
Which the new night may bring.'' His placid words
The king appeased. ''Thou shalt prevail,'' he said;
''Thy thoughts are wise: so be it: let the slain
This day be buried: also, let the foe
His dead inter, and fear not: in their camp
Bid heralds so proclaim. For what's to come,
The morrow shall provide. But, let them heed!
For vengeance terrible hangs over them!''

Here ceased they. Salamenes to the queen
Went instantly: but on the couch once more
The king his tired limbs stretched; and slumber calm
His stormy spirit in oblivion wrapped.

Within the Median camp, meantime, deep sleep
O'erpowered the wearied host. The out--worn steed,--
Of the full rack, or juicy herbage, fresh
From the moist earth upshooting, heedless all,--
Slept motionless: the jaded sentinel,
His leaden limbs unable to uphold,
And his down--weighing eye--lids, dropped, and lay
Fast bound in sleepy fetters. But their chief,
Arbaces, slept not; nor the ardent priest:
Each on his couch, the present state, the past,
The future, pondering, lay; and found no rest.
At length Belesis rose: walked forth, and thus,
Toward the dark--mantled sky uplooking, spake.

''Ye shine not on us now, bright Ministers!
How have we sinned? Yet surely the dark clouds
Will pass; the glory of your countenance
Will come again upon us! Why complain?
Ye promised victory; but the day named not.
We are but tried,--our trust in your decree
How strong, to prove. Or, in our own weak arms,
The bow, and spear, the chariot, and the horse,
Too much confided we; and, in the fight,
Thought not upon our God? But He will look
With pity on our weakness; and His work
Not leave unfinished.'' To his troubled breast
Thus sought he to give ease. Arbaces, too--
With doubts, and fears, and hopes, perplexed--his thoughts
Within himself thus shaped: ''By heaven, in truth,
Hath its great will unto the priest been shown?
Or, to the ruin of us all, by dreams,
And visions false, hath he been led astray?
Am I, in verity, to this great work
By God appointed? or . . . . Yet, wherefore doubt?
We hoped for conquest; and were but repulsed;
Not vanquished; nor inglorious even in flight.
Were we not victors almost to the gates?
Were not our foes as four men unto one?
Yet, from the noon until the set of sun,
Drove we them not before us? Wherefore, then,
Should we be fearful? Will not myriads still
Our armies strengthen? but the tyrant's hosts
Melt off, like snow upon the mountain's top,
When summer cometh? May he not again
In battle meet me; not again to escape?
A second stroke . . . . But, wherefore do I boast?
Or why am I disquieted in soul?
Are not the nations in the hands of God?
And will He not do with them what is right?
Yet, not the less, ourselves, as seems the best,
In the great task must work. The captains, then,
To council will I summon; that the day,
Whate'er its business be, not unprepared,
Nor doubtful, may surprise us.'' Thus resolved,
At once he rose: and, rising, called aloud
To Abner, who reposed within the tent:
''Awake, my friend. To Abdolonimus speed,
And summon him to council instantly.
Rabsaris, also, bid, and Azareel:
Nor aged Almelon uninvited leave.
And, whom thou biddest, others let them bid;
That not one chief of note within our call
May be unsummoned. To the priest, myself
Will go; and, whom I pass, arouse.'' That said,
Their glittering arms both took, and issued forth.

Already up, Arbaces found the priest;
Beside his tent, upon the faded moon,
As through the cumbrous clouds she forced her way
Solemnly gazing. He the coming feet
Heard; and, the youthful Mede beholding, thus:

''Thy sight rejoiceth me, heroic prince;
Watchful, as valiant! such the chosen of Heaven!
Fear not; for thou shalt yet thy foes subdue;
And work out all, which, in the eternal book,
The hand of God hath written. But, in truth,
Thee to arouse, myself ere long had sped,
Hadst thou not thus prevented: for, be sure,
Wise counsel and prompt act require we now:
Conjuncture dangerous, howsoe'er our arms
In battle strongest proved. For, to our sails
Though God the wind may give; yet, at the helm
If folly sit, our bark upon the rocks
Soon will be shattered. Strength the sword must wield;
Wisdom our counsels. Summon, then, the chiefs,
While yet 'tis night; and let their thoughts be told;
That, for the coming day, we may resolve.''

To him Arbaces: ''Even for this, thy tent
Thus early sought I; for, all night mine eyes
Have never closed; nor have my thoughts found rest.
Come with me, then; and let us rouse the chiefs,
As yet unwakened. Not a few are called;
And now await us.'' Speaking thus, they went:
The captains summoned to a council prompt;
And joyfully were heard. In haste arrayed,
Within Arbaces' tent the warriors met.
A brazen tripod, standing in the midst,
Three naphtha lamps upheld, whence issued light
As of a watch--fire; on their brows uncleansed,
And armour, gory tokens of the fight
Displaying. Ghastly were their looks; yet hope,
And martial fire illumined them. First, their chief,
Forthstanding, spake. ''Brief respite from the toil
Of long and arduous contest have ye had,
Comrades beloved: yet, in your looks appear
Strength unabated; and untamed desire,
A second time in fight to prove, how weak
The tyrant's slavish myriads, 'gainst the few,
The noble few, who death to bonds prefer.
Bravely indeed ye fought; and victory won:
Till, in an evil moment, from our hands
Was snatched the hard--won laurel: or, perchance,
Not evil; for with God the issue rests:
And, for a greater glory, may He not,
By this brief foil, prepare us? Be it so!
Yet, little hath the tyrant cause to boast:
And less shall have, if to ourselves we still
Faithful abide; and to the gods devout.
Our own strength, and our foe's, we now have proved;
And fear him not. What next shall be our aim;
Battle immediate; or a brief delay;
Or whatsoever else may wisdom prompt,
As best that we should do, or leave undone;
Imports us to resolve. His free thoughts, then,
Let each man speak.'' He ended; and, at once,
The Arabian king, forth starting, spake aloud.
''Battle I counsel; morning, noon, and night;
Unceasing, unrelaxing. Blow on blow,
While yet the metal glows, the armourer drives;
And bends it to his purpose: let him pause;
And quickly it defies him. Give no time;
No respite from their pantings: make them drop
The food untasted, and the brimming cup:
Scare them at council: break upon their sleep:
Turn night to day; and day to roaring hell;
Till they be crushed; or we, at least, be free.''

So he vehémently; and his dark eye,
And countenance swart, as with outbreaking fire,
Ardently glowed. To answer him, stood forth
Almelon; with astonishment, and fear,
Trembling and pale. His wild eyes round he cast;
And, his shrunk hands uplifting, thus began.
''Oh! madness thus to speak! dangerous to hear!
Infectious to your reason! for, like plague,
Frenzy from one man through a host will run;
Turning them all to furious maniacs!
Wisdom, with labor hard--by slow degrees--
Like to a single reaper in a field--
Oft wearied--pausing oft--and toiling still--
Must win its difficult way: frenzy,--like flame
Blown by the wind, that, with destructive sweep,
Levels at once the whole,--its easy task
Swiftly performs; and with like fatal end.
Oh! then, beware the baneful pestilence!
Fury to combat; but to counsel bring
Deliberate thought; and speech well weighed, and cool:
For, wisest counsel--by intemperate words
Propounded, or discussed--to foolishness
Turns easily; as wine beneath the sun,--
Wholesome and sweet at first, and strong the heart
To cheer,--in griping sourness ends at last.
Be temperate, then: with an untroubled eye,
See all things: with a wary judgment, choose:
And, having chosen, with strong arm enact.
Reflect, that ye yourselves are men, 'gainst men
Contending; and not gods, your foes to crush.
Are they not tall as you? as swift? as strong?
With the same weapons armed; and fenced as well;
And, in their numbers, beyond all compare,
Mightier than ye are? wherefore scorn them, then?
To me, far wiser counsel seems it now,--
That we a second battle,--losing all
If that we lose,--so soon again risk not:
But to the mountains, rather, for a while,
Coolly retreat: there, our spent strength recruit:
There, safely biding, the incoming wait
Of thousands, many and strong, who unto us
Daily will haste,--while, every day, more weak,
In arms, and in resolve, will wax the foe.
If this be worth your waiting, ponder then:
But, whatsoever else ye may prefer;
Warily ever, and with cool minds judge.''

So he; and, while he spake, the Arabian king
Smiled on him; not displeased. But Azareel
His counsel liked not: and thus made reply.

''Unvanquished to retreat, is to call on
Whom soon we make our vanquisher. What, then!
Have we not met them once; and victors been
From noon till sunset? wherefore not again;
If so be needful. Yet, I counsel not
To contest unprovoked. The better course,
If well I judge, were neither timorous flight,
Nor hesitating rest,--but a calm pause--
As when, with lifted shield, and sword in hand,
Men watch the antagonist. Meantime, missives swift
To the Bactrians may we send; who this first fight,--
Our few against the tyrant's numberless--
Shall trumpet to them; and within them wake
Thirst for like glory: that their arms with ours,--
So prosperous seeming,--they may haste to join;
Ere, all the laurels by us gathered first,
To them rest nought but shame, and our fixed hate;
Whose love they might have had. We, meantime, here,--
Nor seeking combat, nor evading it--
In quiet may abide, and wait the event;
Assured that, by this brief delay, our arms
Not weaker; nor the glory of our deeds
Dimmer will wax; but, every day, more strong
Our legions; and our fame more lustrous, grow.''

So Azareel; and many at his words
Loudly applauded. Then Rabsaris next,
Hoarse, and with feverish eye, stood forth, and said;
''Wisely and nobly are we counselled now:
But, meantime--lingering here in doubtful hope--
No other chance have we--to the same end--
And by a better, and a briefer path--
As surely leading? Crush the dragon's head;
And all his monstrous folds, and deadly sting--
After a few convulsive throes--will fall
Powerless. Even so, yon tyrant could we crush,--
What were his spears, his chariots, and his horse,
But the unwieldy dragon's train; death--struck,
Stingless, and strengthless? Send we to him, then,
Heralds, defiance bearing. Let them say,
'Darest thou in single fight, with sword and lance,
Stand forth; and, in the view of both the hosts,
On thy right hand, and on the aid of Heaven,
The issue put? that this great strife may cease;
And that the nations may in peace abide;
Free, or, as heretofore, thy vassals mean;
So fettered trebly!' Surely, in his wrath,
Will he come forth; and by my arm shall fall:
For Heaven, your champion in this glorious cause,
Me will appoint; stern justice dealing best,
Even by the hand that most hath felt the wrong. . . .
Thou smilest Belesis; spake I foolishly?''

To him, with soothing tone, the priest: ''Not wise,
As wonted, now thy words: nor, that I smile,
Let it offend thee: with a laugh of scorn,
The tyrant our defiance would deride.
And, if our cause upon one arm must rest;
Surely, Arbaces present, to none else
Could we the issue trust. Thy private wrongs
Greater than his; and thy resentment more;
Not, therefore, of the gods more favored thou;
That they thy weaker arm should make prevail,
More than his mightier. Confidence in Heaven,
Heaven doth approve; so, to our utmost, we,
With our best strength and knowledge, labor still:
But, on the foolish, or the slothful man,
Who, impiously, or idly, to the gods
His proper task transferreth,--Heaven doth frown.
Hear, now, what I advise: and, as thy words
I question--censure thou as freely mine.
'Tis in the clash of thoughts, that wisdom's spark
Is stricken out; which, else, like the bright fire
In cold dull flints, had slept: and, as one spark,
Rightly received, and nourished, this whole world
Might wrap in flame,--so, one immortal truth,
Outbreaking, may in every human mind;
To earth's last age, and to its farthest shores,
With undimm'd radiance shine. For this one day,
Wisest to me it seems, from war to rest:
The slain to bury, and the wounded aid:
Nor, on the morrow, would I, unprovoked,
The strife renew: but, numbering first our strength,
Would prayer, and sacrifice, to the great gods
Solemnly offer: then, in martial show,
For combat still prepared, abide the event.
From this hard--foughten, and right glorious field,
Retreat to make, our foes would animate,
Ourselves depress. Against superior force,--
Of whom, be sure, by this first conflict taught,
No few, their arms with ours will gladly join,--
Needless assault, with wearied troops, to make;
Unwise were, truly: and, the immortal gods,
For their past aid, unlauded, uninvoked
For aid to come,--the contest to renew,--
Unholy were, unthankful. Such, to me,
Our best path seemeth. Who can aught suggest,
Better devised; or that propounded now
Correct, or strengthen, him my friend I hold.''

He ceased; and much his counsel was approved:
Nor, for a time, seemed any man for speech
To address himself. Arbaces then stood forth;
And briefly thus: ''Well have we been advised;
And may at once resolve. Yet, furthermore,
Three things I counsel. Of the mingled slain,
Those near the camp inter: but, for our dead,
Nigh to the city, them so far to seek,
Dangerous might prove: for their own sakes, the foe
Burial must give them. Next, at dawn of day,
Be numerous horsemen, far and near, sent forth;
Tidings of this great battle to proclaim;
And aid invite. Supplies for lengthened war;
Clothing, and food, oxen, and sheep, and wine;
All things, for strength or comfort, that we need,
Let them collect; and in the eastern hills,
Amid the caves and rocks impregnable,
Safely store up. Thence, when required, with ease
May we transport them: or, in conflict foiled,
Thither may hasten; and assault defy.
Lastly, thy counsel, noble Azareel!
Faithful and valiant! warmly do I join.
Haply this strife,--our few 'gainst all the strength
Of vast Assyria--not disastrous proved,--
Thoughts nobler in the Bactrian may bring forth;
That his dishonored steps he may re--tread;
Glory to seek, and 'vantage, with us leagued;
Rather than selfish ease, with infamy.''

So spake the prince; and all his words approved.
The council then dissolved; and to his tent
Went every leader: for the morning star
Not yet above the eastern mountains shone.

But now the sun arose; and all the sky
Filled with his glory: earth and seas rejoiced.
From their sound slumber sprang the warriors then:
Trumpets spake out; arms clashed; and coursers neighed:
To the fresh breeze, unnumbered gonfalons,
Of every nation, every tribe, the sign,
Shook out their gorgeous hues: above them all
Conspicuous far, the banner of the Sun,
High in the midst bright flaming. From her gates
Now poured great Nineveh her myriads forth:
For plunder hoping, some; and, some, to gaze
Upon the gory field. With sorrowing hearts,
Among the slain went some, lost friends to seek:
Fathers, and mothers, for their absent sons:
Wives, for their husbands: for the youth betrothed,
The pale and shrinking virgin. Loud were heard
Weepings and sore lamentings. But the most
With joy went forth; the place of victory
With their own eyes to see: yet, as they looked,
Turned from the ghastly spectacle; and hid
Their faces, loathing. To the Median camp
Rode heralds now, and cried, ''Thus saith the king:
'Lest that a plague should come upon the land,
This day be peace between us; that the dead
To earth may be committed. Let the sword
Until the morrow sleep.''' ''Peace be it then,''
Gladly Arbaces answered: ''better still
If, for this day, the word had been for aye.''

So zealously both hosts their toil pursued;
The slain interring: nor, till set the sun,
Their task accomplished. Their worn bodies then
From soil they washed: with food and generous wines,
Their strength restored: and hasted to repose.