The sun hath set; the outworn armies sleep:
But, in Arbaces' tent, by summons called
For counsel secret on things perilous,
That night to be resolved,--the rebel chiefs
Promptly have gathered. Leaning on their spears,
They pause awhile, expecting who shall speak.
Then Abdolonimus before the rest
Stood forth; for of impatient mood was he,
Fiery and quick, his sinewy form to match,
And roe--buck lightness. Of Arabia king,
Yet vassal still of haughty Nineveh,
Now two years had he fretted in his chains;
Like the wild steed of his own deserts, proud,
And spurning at control. With hasty foot,
A stride advancing, he glanced round, and thus.
''Our time so short, why stand all silent here?
Who, and what, calls us? Be it told at once;
That, or to deeds we may bestir ourselves,
If such there be to do; or use the hours,
As nature teaches, for refreshing sleep;
Seldom, I ween, more lacked.'' Belesis then,
With air majestical, one step advanced,
And thus began. ''The summoner am I;
O king! and all ye chiefs! by the plain will
Of heaven itself directed; and, not less,
By counsel of wise friends. Refreshing sleep
Is, to the wearied body, as our food;
Which wanting long, we die; but counsel sage
Is ofttimes as a shield of proof, snatched up
To ward off instant death. My words then hear,
Nor deem ill spent the time. To--night we rest
Secure, and unsuspected; our main force,--
So, of a surety, favored by the gods,--
Nearest the eastern mountains: safe retreat,
Should the first storm of battle blow advérse;
Or as a fortress where, impregnable,
We may abide, inviting to our arms
The oppressëd nations. What to--morrow's close
May bring, we know not; but, of good, no hope
More than the present; while, of evil, much
May well be dreaded; and, in part, is sure:
For, though the slumbering tyrant be not stirred
By noise of our intent; which, spread so wide,
Cannot be long concealed; and though our friends
Doubt not, nor waver, in the feverish hour
Betwixt the close design, and open stroke--
A proof for boldest hearts--yet this mad march--
The tyrant's senseless whim--around the walls
Prolonged to--morrow, of the mountain--holds
Would rob us: yield us, at his reckless nod,--
Outnumbered fatally--foes right and left,--
Retreat impossible,--to the first blind rush
Of nations, ignorant that for them, not less
Than for ourselves, we peril country, friends,
Wives, children, parents, riches, honors, life,
In struggle to be free. Such enemies,--
Time gained for thought,--our fast friends might become;
And turn, at length, the scale, else threatening us
With issue perilous. Therefore, from the walls--
Wisely resolved--a space should we retire:
There, as occasion prompts, the battle meet;
Or to the strongholds of the mountains march,
And calmly wait attack. Our hundreds thus,
Resisting, stronger than their thousands were,
Assaulting us. His utmost so defied,
Myriads who worship his omnipotence now,
Would know the tyrant's weakness; and the awe
That bound them slaves, would melt away, like fog
Before the sun--blaze. But, delay is fate!
Now must we strike, or, through all life to come,
Groan under bondage! Even should we 'scape,
Undoubted; and the fourth day's march be done;
What better can ye hope, than that ye have?
The mountain strongholds would be more remote;
The ardor of our spirits, by delay,
Cooled; and, in many, quenched: no chance of good
More than is now; of evil, manifold.
Why linger then? Is God not on our side?
Shake out your banners to the rising sun;
Draw forth the sword; and, while ye worship, swear,
Never to let the glorious conflict end,
While o'er Assyria rules the woman--king;
While, o'er the east, Assyria! for I say--
And reverence ye the priest by heaven inspired--
The doom of this great city is at hand:
Her king is given to death; her walls to fire;
Her strength shall be as flax before the flame;
Her glory shall go out; her name alone
Shall live, to tell the world that she hath been!
Lift then the flag, and trust to heaven the event!''

He ended; and sounds dissonant--the voice
Applauding, the loud murmur censuring,--rose.
Quick glances shooting round, eager to speak,
Stood Abdolonimus; but, preventing him,
Almelon, of the Babylonian force
Newly arrived, the leader, raised his voice.
An aged man was he, yet firm of limb,
And with an eye unquenched: but, with his years,
Caution, distrust, had come; judgment severe;
An anxious mind, forecasting still the event;
The worst, too oft, foreboding. On the priest
He fixed his look; and, with slow utterance, thus:

''Thy years, Belesis, fewer are than mine;
And thy experience less: with patience, then,
Attend me; though, for knowledge, and far thought,
With thee I match not; as what other can?
For, from thy boyhood, wert thou ever wise
Beyond man's wisdom: nor inspired am I
Like thee to read the counsel of the Gods:
Yet, for these grey hairs, listen to my words,
Which shall be few; for I no speaker am,
As well ye know. Till the fifth morn shall come,
Lift not your flag; nor farther stir men's minds;
But let your purpose lie as in a sleep,
And none will wake it. Surely ye forget
How few our numbers in this mighty host!
Two hundred myriads here of fighting men;
On our side, but an eighth. Forget ye this?
Forget ye that the fourth day hence will see
One half this living deluge ebb away,
Never again to flow? What chance of ill,
Doubtful, can match this certainty of good?
Then get ye to your quiet beds; and speak
No word of your intent; but wait in peace
The fifth bright morn: lift then your banners high,
And sound your trumpets till you burst the brass,
If so you will; I caution you no more.
Ye have my counsel; hear it not in vain.''

Promptly again stepped forth the Arabian king,
Intent to answer him: but, when he saw
That for himself Belesis would reply,
He nodded, and drew back. Thus then the priest.

''Thy years, old chief, we reverence; and thy thoughts,
By sage experience matured, respect:
Yet, unto error are the wisest prone:
Good counsel unto better must give place,
Without regard of venerable age;
Whereto obedience would we gladly pay,
Reason approving; not in her despite:
Therefore in censure of thy cold advice
Freely I speak; nor thou offence shouldst feel.
Friends; our great cause is in the hand of Heaven!
It is decreed, and written in the book,
That we shall triumph. Few we are indeed;
But shall wax numerous. Think ye, in yon host,
No heart will burn when freedom is our cry?
No arm be lifted, when our trumpets sound,
Calling to strike for country, children, wives,
For aged sires and mothers? Doubt it not!
The rather far, by my advice, proclaim
With the first dawn of light our glorious cause,
Even that this living deluge is yet full:
To us a source of hope, far more than fear;
Of terror, more than triumph, to our foe:
For, think ye that on us alone will break
The fury of the storm? No! let him loose
The winds, and lash the waters: greater might
Than his shall rule the tempest, once awaked;
And fling him like the surf before its waves!
Ye have my counsel also: choose the best.''

He ceased; and still again discordant sounds,
Applause and censure mingled, answered him.

As to the breeze, unsettled, veering oft,
The golden crop, full charged, to every gust
Doth bow; to this hand some, and some to this;
That, whence the master--wind, may not be told;
Even so with thoughts conflicting were the chiefs
Divided; that, which counsel swayed the most,
No man might tell. High grew the clamor soon.

But, overpowering all, Rabsaris now,
With arms uplifted, strode into the midst,
Speaking vehémently; and all were stilled.
The tyrant's deadly foe well known was he:
Stern, and vindictive; nursing evermore
The hope of vengeance for his daughter, wronged
By him, the accursëd one; his comrade once,
In youth, and bosom friend: for at the chase
Together; and together at the board;
And at the midnight revel, had they been.
But youthful friendship, to insatiate lust,
Slight barrier: for Azubah's growing charms
The king had fired; that, with imperious hand,
Even on the morning of her marriage day;
From out her father's arms; before the eyes
Of the expecting youth, the maid he seized;
And to his palace bore: herself, the while,
Not all displeased; for her stern father's will,
One, whom she liked not, would have forced her wed;
And, in the enamoured monarch,--so with eyes
Of passionate love he had wooed her, and with words
Of honied sweetness,--she had seen a friend,
And kind deliverer. Wild, despairing, mad,
The disappointed bridegroom his own sword
Turned on himself: but, with consuming rage,
Rabsaris on the hated ravisher,
Even in his feasting hall, his weapon drew:
Was seized; thrown down; chained, and to prison cast.
Then all men said that he would surely die:
His foes rejoiced; his friends estranged themselves;
His next of kin petitioned for his lands;
And thought his respite long: yet him the king,--
By the fond daughter's prayers and tears subdued,--
Set free, unharmed: his forfeit wealth restored:
But, from Assyria, for his term of life,
An exile, sent him; on that day to die
When the forbidden ground his foot should touch.
Yet now, defying fate, for vengeance mad;
And, in his careworn face, and shrunken form,
For safe disguise confiding, had he come,
That long--due debt to pay, for which alone
He lived, or cared to live. A nobler blow
Designed he found: then fearlessly his name
And purpose spake aloud. His tall, gaunt form,
Hoarse, hollow voice, sunk cheek, and burning eye,
Drew all men's gaze. ''Friends, hear me,--hear,'' he cried;
''Hear me, Rabsaris; for ye know me well,
The tyrant's mortal, unrelenting foe.
Foul! false! accursëd! Hear me, valiant chiefs,
Together leagued in this most holy cause;
Which may the good Gods prosper! But, not thus,
Among yourselves discordant, can ye hope
For other than disunion, and defeat,
Shameful, and fatal. Of your schemes in full,
As yet I have not learned: for me enough,
Your foe and mine are one: yet did I deem
Some ruling counsel swayed you; and some chief,
By all acknowledged leader, had been named;
Of your great enterprise, the head and soul:
But, here, I see all leaders; followers none;
To every sword a voice: prognostic dire!
For, look but at the simplest things that live,
And ye may learn a prudent government.
The silly sheep will yet a leader choose,
For strength and courage nobler than the rest;
And him they follow: the industrious bee
Works not but in the presence of its queen:
Nor cranes, intent to migrate, will take wing,
Save with a leader to direct their course.
Saw ever ye a herd, but, at their head,
Was one, their king? Through all the world 'tis so;
Yea in the heavens; for, round one ruling star
The dazzling host obedient ever moves;
And the great system lasts; and shall for aye.
But, what if each particular orb, too proud
To own allegiance, would its separate course
Choose out in heaven; how think ye then the frame
Would hold together? Star 'gainst star impelled,
Horribly clashing, the huge arch would fall;
Crush this great earth; and bury all that lives.
Learn then of these; and, from among you, him,
The worthiest, wisest, bravest, choose ye chief:
Him follow, and obey; so shall ye thrive:
All equals, ye will perish!'' At these words,
Throughout the assembly ran a sound confused;
And many a name of king, or warrior good,
Was whispered, man to man. Belesis then
Again stood forth; and to Rabsaris thus.
''Well hast thou spoken; for, without the head
To guide and rule, what matters strength of limb?
True strength in wisdom lies. Why toils the ox,
Pricked to his labor by some puny boy?
Why doth the proud steed bear upon his back
The stripling, or the woman; his vast strength
And spirit, to such weakness tamed and bowed?
And wherefore doth the mighty elephant
His huge knee bend, at bidding of a slave,
Whom, with one motion, he might strike to death,
Or crush to nothing? wherefore but for this;
That, in the weaker frame of man, abides
That nobler strength of Reason, which doth awe
The meaner intellect; and the huge powers
Of things irrational, like mere machines,
Doth bend unto its purpose. As the beasts,
Senseless were we, and fit to wear the yoke,
A chief refusing, and controlling mind,
Who to wise object should our strength direct;
Making, of many thousand feeble arms,
One irresistible. The untwisted flax,
An infant's hand might take; and, thread by thread,
Snap easily, what, in one band firm knit,
Had been a cable for some bulky ship
To outride the storm with. Like these fragile threads
Were we, by jarring counsels kept apart;
But, bound together, shall have strength to pull
From its broad base this monstrous tyranny;
And rend the fetters that bind down the world.
Nor ignorant we of this; nor over proud,
Or jealous, to the needful curb to yield:
For chains and darkness in a maniac's cell
Fitter were he than for a leader's place,
Who his own headstrong will would not submit;
Or, in the anarchy of many rules,
Could hope for conquest. One sole chief must be.
But who, among so many eminent here;
So many great in council and in fight,
The greatest, ye would know; so him to choose.

''My friends, your captain is already chosen!
His name is written in the eternal book!
Heaven hath appointed him! Among you here
Unknown he stands: but, when your flag is raised,
And of the universal host ye ask,
'Whom for your captain choose ye?'--then the name
Will to the heavens fly up. For us, this hour,
Sole question is, if, with to--morrow's sun,
We strike the first blow in this glorious strife,
Or till the fifth morn timorously wait;
Unhappy omen! Promptly then resolve;
Nor longer waste the night. Who think with me,
To this side draw; who to Almelon lean,
Stand on the left: and let one chief remain
To tell the numbers; so shall soon be known
What counsel sways the most: and that rule all.''

Such words pleased well; and forthwith, as they chose,
To right, or left, they moved. Foremost of all,
Stepped forward toward the priest the Arabian king,
And thus aloud: ''No chieftain have ye named
To count the numbers: be Arbaces he;
Noble and true, on him will all rely.''

The rest applauding, from amid the throng
Arbaces moved; and waited till the stir
Should have subsided.--Now, from man to man,
Walking, he counted. Not a breath was heard.
Twice round he went; and twice the numbers summed:
Then, at one end, in view of every eye,
Stood, looked around, and spake. ''My valiant friends;
All valiant, earnest in this holy cause,
Howe'er in counsels differing. Gods alone
See all, and truly. Wisest of man's race
See, each, but part; and oft, of that mere part,
The true worth know not: whence come reasonings false;
Conjectures strange, and judgments most divérse,
In even who best can judge. With us, this night,
The scales hang balanced; both sides, man for man,
Exactly numbered: but myself not yet
Have taken place; my right to choose, not lost.

Opposed stand here, the brave, the wise, the good,
The agëd and the young: how then may I
Dare to decide such difference! Yet to me--
So have the ever glorious gods ordained--
To me, unworthy as I am, is given,
The scales wherein are mightiest issues poised,
Even as I will, to sway. How then to choose?
Of my own wisdom should I counsel seek?
Gravely this mighty question, every way,
Turn, and return, and fluently debate;
Then, like a judge between two counter claims,
Your difference set at rest, approving one?
Foolish that man, vain, and presumptuous,
Who, at my years, and uncompelled, could stand
In this assembly supreme arbiter;
Above such wisdom, his poor self--conceit
Esteeming sovereign: such man am not I;
And, lacking better guidance than my own,
The word decisive would have blushed to speak,
Where men like these are balanced: but I ask,
Not of the brave; not of the young, or old;
Not of the wise; nor of my own vain thoughts:
A mightier voice within my soul doth call,
Louder than armies; and I must obey,
For 'tis from Heaven it comes! Your hearts are strong;
Your cause is holy; God is on our side;
How can you doubt? Up with your banner, then!
Wait not the fifth pale morn; wait not an hour!
This instant let us shake before high heaven
Our glorious ensign! See! it waits you here!''

Yet speaking, toward a folded gonfalon,
Behind him, thwart the spacious tent outstretched,
He pointed; onward sprang; the great staff grasped;
Paused; and, from man to man, glances of fire
Shot, inexpressibly bright; waiting the word.
Splendor of heaven beamed from his noble brow;
His voice heroic with unearthly strength
Seemed to expand: his voice was like the call
Of trumpet to the battle. In their hearts,
All said, ''behold our leader!'' s a torch,
'Neath the cold, silent, beacon--pile thrust in,
With its small flame, the dead and heavy mass
To instant light, and fire, and motion turns;
Dazzling the eye, and roaring in the ear--
So, at his burning words, the sleeping heat
In the still bosoms of the generous chiefs
Burst to an instant flame. ''Up! up!'' they cried;
''Lift up the banner! we will trust in Heaven!''

Ere half the words were spoken, from the tent
Out flew the ardent Mede: with eager hands,
The flag uncoiled; uplifted the huge staff,
Steel--pointed; and, with more than giant's strength,
Down drove it, quivering, deep into the ground.
Was it a signal of approving Heaven?
A sudden wind arose: as if to life
Joyously summoned--through its whole expanse,
The mighty ensign, rustling, roaring, streamed;
Waving defiance; beckoning to the field.

Toward his own army every leader then
In haste departed; and, throughout the camp,
Quickly a stir was heard; fast running feet;
The clink of armour; earnest whisperings;
The tramp of horsemen spurring eagerly
To all allies whom distance, and the hour,
Permitted them to summon. To the rest--
Beyond a ready call--went messengers,
The glorious news to tell; and to conjure,
With the next night to march. In little while,
Unheard, unseen,--for sentries there were none;
And every several nation, from the next,
As through the day, wide space apart had kept,--
Foot, horse, and chariots, oxen, camels, wains,
Toward the great eastern strongholds 'gan draw off.

Two hours' march done, the Medes, who first arrived,
Halted, and stood. Came next the Armenian host:
Nation by nation, silently they came,
And silent stood, awaiting. But, when now
The Lydian force, most distant, and the last,
Near them had come--then tents again were pitched;
Sentries were stationed; and the ardent hosts,
Till dawn should peep, once more lay down to rest.