To anxious thousands on the northern wall,--
With head outstretched above the battlement,
Looking, and listening,--eager the first sign
Of stirring foe to catch,--at slow pace dragged
The wheels of Night's black chariot. Dense the gloom:
The watch--fires of the Medes, unfed, had died;
And through the solid canopy of cloud,
No star--light glimmered. Two hours yet of dawn
Were wanting, when their sharpened ears the sound
Of war approaching caught,--the march of hosts,
The tread of horses, and the gentle roll
Of wheels on the soft herbage. Still long time
They waited, ere the slow and cautious step
Of men at hand was heard. More nigh drew they:
Stood still at last; and, on the wicket gate,
Struck the soft signal. They who watched within,
Heard, and made haste to answer. As by stealth,
The massive bolts were drawn; the ponderous bars
Were lifted; moaned the hinges, as they bore,
Slowly, and steadily, their brazen load;
And the great gate stood open. Silently,
The Medes went in: with quick, and noiseless tread,
Mounted the battlement; and showed the sign,--
Three torches, waved abreast. At once the earth
Gave forth a sound as of a distant flood;
Trembling and murmuring 'neath the hurried march
Of multitudes; the roll of chariot wheels,
And tramp of fiery steeds. Above the gate,--
Like one who watchful waits the destined time
A mine to fire that, as with earthquake--shock,
Shall whelm a city,--Salamenes stood;
The moment seized, and spake. The startling blast
Of a trumpet followed: in a moment more,
The air was shivered by ten thousand tubes,
Loud blaring, and the clamors of the host,
Upstarting from their ambush. On the wall,
As if by magic kindled, flared at once
Unnumbered fires; and, on the lofty mound
Of Ninus, like volcano newly waked,
A blaze terrific suddenly shot up,
That the black arch of cloud turned bloody red,
And washed with fire the plain. The astonished Medes,
To east, west, south, the blare of trumpets heard,
And armies shouting: and behind them, too,
Voices, and trumpets, and the coming--on
Of steeds, and chariots; so that all around
By foes they seemed encompassed. On them then
Fell withering terror. As when, nigh the shore,
Before the furious storm, some goodly ship
Impetuously is driven,--amid the roar
Of winds, the groan and crash of rending masts,--
The fiend--like howlings, and the thunder--strokes
Of giant billows bursting on the rocks,--
Vainly the anxious pilot lifts his voice;
Few hear, none understand: the affrighted crew
Shrink cowering from the storm; or, with wild haste,
Hither, and thither run,--all order lost,
All rule o'erthrown,--even such confusion dire
Fell on the astounded Medes; even so in vain
His mighty voice Arbaces lifted up;
Bade them be men, and soldiers. Motionless
Stood some, aghast, like men who in the dark
Behold a spirit: some, their arms flung down,
To run--they knew not whither: even the best,
And bravest, felt a sinking of the heart,
A failing of the strength. As when the tide
Against a strong wind strives to make its way,--
Heavily rock and roll the laboring waves;
Now this way sweep, now that; advancing now,
And now recoiling, to advance again,--
Even so, erelong, the mortal counterfloods,
With hideous uproar, to and fro were borne.
But still the Assyrians, flushed with hope, and strong,
For conquest fought; the Medes, as yet, confused,
Astonished, struck not, save in self defence;
With life to escape, content. So, darkling, fought,
On either side, the hosts; and thousands fell.

But when, though through an ocean of thick cloud,
The day--god, rising, on the plain looked down,
And showed distinct the battle,--then, too well,
The Medes beheld, how, by the fiery foe,
On all sides they were compassed; and their hearts
Sank utterly; for, to himself each said,
''Surely a mighty army hath been brought
To aid the city! lo, from north, and south,
From east, and west, they come.'' All order lost,
All rule unheeded, backward from the foe,
On every side they fell; and, in the midst,
A formless mass, dense wedged, together crushed.
Shoulder to shoulder, breast to breast, and back
'Gainst back hard driven,--they rocked, and rolled, and reeled.
None which way knew to fly; or, franticly,
All save the few, the dauntless few, had fled.

In vain the valiant captains on them called;
Their valour all in vain; for, by the throng
Hemmed in, as by a wall, the bravest stood,
Even as the coward, powerless. Mail--clad steed,
Or ponderous chariot, to the battle's front
Strove vainly to advance,--so dense the mass
Of myriads round them thronging. They alone
Who on the edge of conflict stood, perforce,
And madly, fought; of life despairing all,
Yet all athirst, ere they were slain, to slay.

Then, in the hearts of the Assyrian chiefs,
To the height rose hope. Upon their soldiers they
Unceasingly called out, and urged them on;
''For this day shall your shame be all redeemed:
The insolent rebel shall again bow down,
And own his conqueror.'' On the hard--wedged mass
Of shrinking Medes, the clouds of thundering horse
Poured on impetuous,--hurling, trampling down:
And, skirting on the outer edge of fight,
Whirled heavy war--cars, with their brazen wheels,
As with a scythe, shearing the battle's edge.

High in a splendid chariot of the king,
And by his matchless horses rapt along,
Rode Salamenes,--with heroic deed,
And ceaseless exhortation, to the work
Ardently stirring. Onward as he flew,
Still was his cry; ''All glory to the brave!
Unto the coward, loathing! Better far
Is death than shame. Oh now, Assyrians, now
Put forth your strength! Charge on! The day is ours!
Heaven fights for us!'' Along the battlement,
Myriads, and tens of myriads, crowding, gazed;
And, with unceasing outcries, to the task
Their friends exhorted. Salamenes, them
Beholding, pointed with his glittering spear,
And cried aloud, ''Look up, Assyrians--See--
Your sons, your mothers, and your aged sires,
Your daughters, and your wives, and maids betrothed,
All witness what ye do. On, on! the brave
They love and honor; but the coward hate.''

With like encouragement, did every chief
His soldiers urge to combat. By the din
Of rout, and onset, the cloud--canopy
Was shaken; and the ground was heaped with slain.

But, on the Median night, at length rose dawn,
And, soon, a mid--day splendor. In the midst,
Even in the very heart of that dense throng,
Amid the crush of frighted myriads,
Long time Arbaces stood; and, all in vain,
His voice uplifted; and his matchless strength
In vain put forth,--that human mound to move,
And to the battle's front clear passage make.
Like to a man against a torrent stream
Striving to force his way,--who, if a step
With labor hard one moment he hath gained,
Even in the next, is, by the furious flood
Forced back, or turned aside,--with labor such,
And such repulse, the godlike leader toiled.
With hands extended, right and left he thrust,
Forcing his way; but, a brief opening won,
Again the boiling waves of men drove in,
Barring his passage. Nathless, on he moved,--
Though like to one amid a quagmire deep
Entangled,--slowly, and with labor great.

But now at length, nor more than spear--cast thence,
A rising ground he saw; and, half way up,
A throng of trumpeters, and those who bore
That mighty ensign, which himself the first
Had planted,--symbol of the great revolt
That should set free the nations. But, not now,
That banner--mute, yet myriad--voiced, to fire
Souls of the brave--its thrilling summons waved:
Not now, the ringing trumpets, with fierce clang,
Stormed at the hearts of men,--to do, or die!
Close furled upon its staff, and slanting low,
Seemed as that flag, dishonored, stooped its head,
Fearing the contest; and the martial tubes
Hung silent by the pale--faced trumpeters,
As they no more dared sound. That sight, at once,
To fury irrepressible stirred up
The Mede's long suffering mind. Till then,--by grief
And pity for his well--tried followers moved,
In that so sudden strait,--his matchless strength,
With patience, and with kindness, had he used;
Each moment hoping, that to nobler thoughts
They would awaken: but no longer, now,
With gentle force he strove a path to win:
Fired by that abject spectacle,--at once,
His lofty shoulder stooping, and one foot
Behind him planting,--with resistless might,--
Even as a ploughshare through a heavy soil
Stiffly bears on,--to this side, and to that,
Thrusting the rent--up ground,--so, through the press,--
His shield advanced,--his great, heart--shaking voice
Calling to make clear room,--to right, to left,
Thrusting, o'erthrowing,--on he ploughed his way.

Arrived at last, the banner--staff he seized;
Flew up, and, on the summit of the mound,
The ensign shaking loose,--with giant strength,
Round and round whirled it; and sent far and wide
His spirit--stirring voice. Like a vast flame
Shaken by tempest, roared the quivering flag:
Again, and yet again, to every side
He turned, and waved it, and his voice sent forth:
Then, deep in earth drove down the mast--like staff;
His sword drew forth; and, calling to his side
The now all--eager trumpeters, bade blow
Signal of onset, strife unto the death.

''Here stand ye all the day, till turns the fight:
Blow out continually: into the brass
Pour all your souls: thousands of arms, now weak,
At every martial clang will gather strength;
Thousands of feet will onward. Sound aloud,
Till the arched heaven give echo.'' At the word,
Pealed forth, as with one breath, a mighty blast,
Far spreading, that the hearts of myriads fired,
As lightning fires the darkness. Looking up
To the mound's top,--o'er all high eminent,
The sun--like ensign, streaming in the wind,
They saw; and, by its side, in dazzling arms,
As 'twere a god alighted to their aid,
Their victory--bringing chief. His glittering sword
Forward he pointed, motioning advance:
North, south, and east, and west, he signed them on.
The rapid thrust, more eloquent than words;
The fiercely stamping foot, said,--''On! away!
Bear them before you! sweep them like a flood!''

As when, at night, heaven's vault with rocky clouds
Thickly is covered; motionless they hang,
Silent, and gloomy, as a funeral train
Around an open grave;--if then the bolt
From Jove's dread arm is hurled,--a sudden blaze
Fires the whole ebon concave: a great voice
Startles the dreaming Night: o'er all the sky,
Cloud after cloud takes up, and passes on,
The grand alarum; till, on utmost verge
Of the huge arch, in murmurs dies away
The long resounding roar,--even such the change
That o'er that lifeless and despairing host
Came suddenly, when, like a gleam from heaven,
Within the darkness of their souls was shot
The spirit of their chief. Up went at once
The human thunder; far and wide it ran;
Peal after peal leaped forth, and bounded on;
And called again; and, from the farthest line,
Again was echoed. Over all the field
Banners sprang up, and shook their glittering plumes;
Blared the fierce trumpets, and the cymbals rang,
Firing to onset. As a northern sea,
Long frost prevailing, silent lies and dead;
A mass of hard--locked ice: the hapless bark,
Fixed as in iron, stands; and, o'er its side,
The pallid seamen look, and think of home
Far distant, and the happy fire--side group,
Children, and wife, whom they no more shall see,--
That ship their grave!--so, by an icy fear,
Of strength and spirit bereft,--eyes dim, ears deaf,
Brain stunned, limbs motionless, had stood the host.

But, as on that dead adamantine deep,
When once the joyous spirits of the air,
From the bright sun--fields of the south are come;
Bringing the summer gale from burning sands
Of Afric, and the ever--steaming deep
Around the equator,--then, with long, slow roll,
Great ocean heaves; with thunderous crashings rent,
Wide parts the icy plain: the dead is touched
With a new life; the motionless is stirred:
Up rise the joyous waves, and clap their hands,
And lift their voices, dashing to and fro:
From out its prison starts the gladdened ship:
The sails spring upward: like a loosened steed,
It paws the waters,--from its strong--ribbed sides,
Scattering the broken fetters; while, aloft,
The seaman's cheerful voice again is heard;
And life and action spring as from the dead,--
Even so that sea of men, by terror locked,
A hard--wedged mass, immoveable, and cold,--
Before the tempest of their leader's voice,
The ardor of his spirit, burst at once
The icy chains; and, with resistless heave,
Wave after wave, against the startled foe
Advanced, and broke, and gathered up again,
And onward swept anew. And now, behold!
As if with gladness on them looking down,
From the thick shrine of cloud, where long had lain
Its glory hidden,--the great eye of heaven
Poured in a flood its golden beams intense
On that awakened host. On them alone
Came down the glory: on the Assyrians, still,
The city, and the vast horizon's bound,
Dark shadow lowered. Intensely bright gleamed out
The burnished armour, and the glittering sword,
The star--like spear--point, and the tossing shield,
The brazen chariot, and the mail--clad horse.
High in the midst, the mighty gonfalon,
And, far and wide, a thousand smaller flags,
Their fiery pennons flapped. Rejoicing now,
Like a young war--horse at the trumpet's sound,
Up to his blazing chariot sprang the Mede;
And through the quickly opening space rode on,
Nigh to the press of battle. But, as yet,
Himself in fight mixed not; the wiser part
Esteeming now, throughout the host to go,
Directing, and exhorting. On he rode,
Circling the rear of contest. At his voice,
All hearts were cheered; all arms invincible seemed.

Like a strong rising tide, which rapidly
O'er the low sands doth gather,--every wave
The face of ocean widening, till, at length,
Even at the rock--base do the billows burst,--
So, forward pressing, ever flowing on,
The tide of Medes on the Assyrian banks
Higher and higher drove; behind them still
A widening area leaving. In the midst,
A dread reserve,--like the still--sleeping bolts,
Waiting Jove's arm,--thousands of chariots stood,
And clouds of restless horse,--all anxiously
Biding the moment when the clear--eyed chief
Should hurl them on the foe. He, with calm mien,
Still round and round his rapid passage took;
And still his trumpet--voice into the hearts
Of his brave soldiers sent. From out his car,
At length, down leaping, up the mound he flew;
And, on the summit standing, far and wide
Along the plain his eagle glances shot,
And thence disposed the battle. His commands,
Riders on wind--swift steeds stood prompt to bear.
Like arrows from the bow, now here, now there,
He sent them forth; and ever with them flew
The spirit of their chief. Alone stood he:
None questioned him: unbidden, none approached:
The princes, and the captains, all in fight
Were hotly mingled: he alone remained,
To watch the storm, and point the thunder--bolts:
His own arm still reserving, till one blow
Might strike the key--stone of the trembling arch,
And bring it down in ruin. For long hours
So toiled the hosts; nor victory, as yet,
For either side proclaimed. Since dawn, the queen,
From a high tower had overlooked the field:
And, when she marked that still encroaching flood,
On every side, too quickly making way,--
Step after step, the Assyrians driving back,
And more and more, at each recoil, their ranks
Thinning, and weakening,--in her heart she said;
''The storm, I fear, is gathering, that, erelong,
Will overwhelm us! Like a frozen snake,
Long time the enemy lay; but now he rears,
With double strength, his horrid crest; and shakes
Fire from his baleful eyes. Like pestilence
The breath he vomits: from before him shrink
Our erst victorious ranks, as though a spell
Of magic ruled them; and, if suddenly
New soul be not infused, this day, perchance,
Will set upon Assyria's overthrow!''

To Dara then, who near her stood, she turned:
By the arm grasped him; with bright, anxious eye,
Gazed in his face, and hurriedly began:
''Fly to the palace, Dara, swift as wind.
The moody king, by some chimera bound,
Avoids the field: but, prostrate at his feet
Fall thou; implore, conjure him, instantly,
No moment lost, with every fighting man
That yet the city holds, to issue forth.
Tell him, so trembling stands the balance now,
That, on the revolution of an hour,
May hang this empire's doom! Oh, bid him think,
How many myriads now for him do look,
As seamen for the pole--star. Say, his throne,
His children, queen, his kingdom, and his life,
All on this day depend. If still he pause,
Tell him that I, even I, unarmed and weak,
Will dare the fight he shuns; and rather die
Than see this battle lost. My strength is nought;
My arm is woman's: but a daring soul
Knoweth not sex; and, in the feeblest frame,
More than the mightiest, shines and animates.
When woman leads, man dares not lag behind!
Then, if he falter, tell him, on the field,
The mother of his children shall be found,
A victor, or a corpse. Away,--and plead
As for thy life; nay, for the lives of all.''

A low obeisance made the graceful youth,
And instantly was gone. ''And may thy tongue,''
Inly she said, ''drop words like burning coals
Upon the frozen heart of that strange man!
What if he come not! Of a surety then
Will I go forth; though never to return,
Save for the sepulchre. What then! what loss!
Who would not perish in a country's cause!
My life is but a breath, a wreath of mist,
Which soon must pass away: and, when 'tis gone,
None will take note: the sun, as heretofore,
Will shine upon a bright, and gladsome earth:
But oh! thou great and glorious Nineveh!
Thou sun of all this world! if thou should'st fall,
Darkness will come upon the race of man:
And never more, on splendor like to thine,
Will the glad heavens look down!'' Some pearly drops
Stealthily wiping off,--her great soul then,
The worst to meet, she summoned; and once more,
On the dread field looked forth. The king, meantime,
From slumber by first din of battle roused,
Within a lofty chamber long had sat,
Watching the altered strife. Dark now his face;
His lips compressed; his eyes were wild, and stern.
In gloomy silence all alone he sat;
And none had dared approach. No thought had he
Of arming for the fight: his hideous dreams,
The spectres of the wizards, that still seemed
To mock, and threaten,--bowed his spirit down.
He felt as underneath the iron hand
Of a vindictive Fate, 'gainst which to strive,
Were hopeless folly. Keenly now he rued
That rash tyrannic act which, at one blow,
Seemed from the dusky future to have shut
Glance, or conjecture. If the gods, indeed,
For that terrific sacrifice had called,
And by the mouths of prophets made it known,--
What guilt were his, what vengeance might he dread,
Who their selected ministers had sent
To quick and shameful death; their only crime,
The utterance of heaven's will! Thus, darkly rapt,
Sat he, his fate awaiting; while his eyes
Upon the dreadful face of war were chained,
As by a basilisk's gaze. At length he called;
And Tartan, captain of the royal guard,--
Not summoned, but awaiting anxiously
A time to enter,--hurriedly came in:
Dropped on his knee: uplifted trembling hands,
Tear--glistening eyes, and cried, ''Oh, most dread lord!
Hear, I implore, thy faithful soldiers' prayer!
As dying men for water, they call out,
In their dire anguish, for their absent king!
Dawn promised victory,--ruin threats them now!
Hark to the din. The very ground, even here,
'Neath the death--struggle of the maddened hosts,
Horse--trampling, and the thunder of the wheels,
Jars as with throb of earthquake! Oh, dread lord,
Canst thou look on, and see all perishing!
Arm, arm, and save them!'' But his earnest prayer,
The king, displeased, broke off: ''Rash youth, forbear!
O'ermuch thou dost presume. Though in thy veins,
As mine, flows royal blood,--bethink thee yet,
How great the difference 'twixt even noblest branch,
And the great trunk. Within one state can reign
One monarch only. Mine it is to rule,
Thine to obey. My counsels are mine own:
That which I will, I will; and let none seek
To sway my purpose. Answer not, but go:
And let the wise physician instantly
Appear before me.'' Mute, but with a heart
By grief and anger laden, Tartan went:
And, in brief time, the hoary--headed leech
Before the monarch stood; and silently
His will awaited. On his reverend face
The king a moment turned a vacant eye,
As though the organ, to the mind distraught,
No sense conveyed; but, soon recovering, thus:

''Peresh, the man thou know'st, who, when cast down
In that last fatal conflict,--from the ground
In his own chariot raised, and through the press
In safety bore me. With a royal hand,
The service was repaid: gold, ay and gems,
A satrap's ransom, were bestowed on him,
In quittance of the act: yet was that man
Offensive to my sight. By gratitude
Untouched,--though that I heed not,--by my power,
And regal state unawed,--even at the throne,
And in the presence of the king of kings,
Erect, and proud, and unabashed, he stood,
As with his equal fronted: and, when I,
Ill pleased, admonished him, and so dismissed,
Nought humbled heard he, but with ominous look
Thus answered: 'In thine hour of danger, once,
King of Assyria, did I stretch the hand
And save thee: in thy trouble, yet again
Upon me wilt thou call; and I shall come!'

''Alas! that trouble is already here!
Look on yon threatening field, which, at the dawn,
Great victory promised: ere the sun go down,
Ruin may cover it! The man I loathe,
Yet must I use him. In an evil hour,
The seers in whom I trusted, were cut off:
He only, but the mightiest far, remains.
Bitter the draught; yet, nathless, must be drunk.
Seek the proud Barak, then: with utmost speed,
Bring him before me.'' Bowing reverently,
The agëd leech withdrew: and on the plain
Again, with troubled look, the monarch gazed.
Still as a statue, gloomy as the grave,
There sat he: hard and stern his countenance;
His thoughts all blackness. But, at length, the door
Softly was opened; and Azubah came;
Knelt down before him, and, in piteous tones,
Besought him: ''Hear, oh hear, most gracious lord,
The prayer of thy poor people! Still they cry,
'Where is the king? Why, in this dreadful hour,
Hides he his face, and comes not forth to save?'
Lord of Assyria, hearken to them now!
Go in the terrors of thy majesty:
Show but thy face upon the battle--field,
And every heart will have a lion's rage,
Each arm a giant's strength. Oh! hear, and save!''

So she, with radiant face, and tearful eye,
The king imploring: but, with head avert,
And hand repellant, he her prayer denied:
''Thou know'st not what thou say'st. Away--away!
Arise, thou wilt incense me!'' While he spake,
With rapid step, and face by terror blanched,
Came Dara,--on the knee before him dropped,--
Uplifted quivering hands,--and hurriedly,
With tone impassioned, thus. ''O king of kings!
Sent by Assyria's weeping queen I come,
An humble suppliant. Not a moment lost,--
With every fighting man the city holds,
She prays, implores, conjures thee to go forth,
And save thy people! else, will she herself,
Weak as she is, even in her woman's garb,
Unarmed, unshielded, fly into the field,
And cheer the soldiers. 'Tell the king,' she said,
'If now he falter,--on the battle--plain
The mother of his children shall be found,
A victor, or a corpse!' Oh! king of kings!
Let not thy noble queen in vain implore!
Danger with every moment direr grows:
Assyria's doom, thy power, thy throne, thy life,
On this one hour depend!'' Not all unmoved,
The monarch heard; but, by despair bowed down,
In tone of sadness, more than anger, thus,
With gentle interruption, answered him.

''Enough, enough. Not for slight cause, be sure,
On this momentous day I hold aloof.
The queen, nor thou, nor any mortal man,
My thoughts can know. If yet I may go forth,
Hid in the future lies; nor I myself
Aright can see. With this be thou content.
But, for the queen, on pain of my full wrath,
I charge her from her purpose to desist.
The sphere of woman is not in the field,
Where men like wild beasts rage. Her presence there,
Indecent were, as useless; and would clog,
Rather than oil, the wheels of victory.
This let her know. And, now, retire ye both;
Ye have your answer. Rise, and speak no more.''

With sorrowing hearts, Azubah, and the youth
Then rose, and went their way. Brief time had passed,
When once again upon its golden hinge
The lofty portal turned; and a gaunt form,
Of height gigantic, and of port erect,
Proudly stalked in. The face was wan, and dark;
Stern as a watchful lion's. 'Neath black brows,
And massive, glowed, as in two darksome caves,
Eyes, bright as coals of fire. His wiry hair,
Of midnight blackness, round his ghastly head,
Like to a wind--swept cedar o'er a tomb,
Streamed wild, and ragged. In an ample robe,
Of ebon hue, that to the ankle fell,
His form was wrapped: the strong right arm alone,
Bare from the shoulder, sallow as a corpse,
Hairy and fleshless, by his side hung down,
A huge anatomy. Slight reverence made,
Before the king he stood; and fixed on him,
His stern, soul--piercing eyes. The king on him,
As sternly gazed again; and, for a time,
Was silence in the chamber. But, at length,
Raising his bony arm, and toward the plain
The lean forefinger pointing,--with a voice
Hollow and deep as echo in a vault,
Thus the dark wizard spake. ''Remember'st thou,
King of Assyria,--when with angry words
Thou didst rebuke me,--how I answered thee?
'Once, in thy peril, did I stretch my hand,
And save thee: in thy trouble, yet again
Upon me wilt thou call, and I shall come.'

''Perchance my words were mocked at,--but, behold!
That hour of trouble is already here:
Upon me thou hast called; and I am come.
Think'st thou that from these prescient eyes, even then,
Yon gory field was hidden? No! I saw
Where, on one hand, an altar--stone was raised;
The faces of the gods, from out the clouds,
Looking benignant. On the other hand,
A spacious plain I saw. The pall of night
Hung o'er it; yet I marked where cars and horse,
And countless foot, in breathless ambush lay,
Waiting a coming foe. Day dawned; and lo!
Contending hosts, as on an earthquake's bed,
Rocking and heaving! Victory, as yet,
To neither side was given. The gods looked down,
Their doom suspending; for the sacrifice
Long waiting: but the victim was refused.
Stern grew their faces then: from their dread eyes
They shot down lightnings; and, anon, like waves
Before the tempest driven, in headlong flight
Ran those on whom they thundered: in pursuit,
Legions, whose swords seemed flame. ''Soon then again
Thick darkness fell, and curtained all from sight.
But, from a city nigh at hand, I heard
The sounds of lamentation, and of dread;
The shriek of women, for their husbands slain;
The cry of children, for their fathers fallen:
And, from the dark vault of the starless sky,
I heard the voices of the angry gods,
Threatening yet heavier doom. In this, O king!
Behold the shadowing of thy destiny!
The choice, even yet, is thine; the sacrifice
By heaven required, and hope of victory;
Or disobedience, and sure overthrow.
What if the child be dear to thee as life;
Were not her blood cheap purchase for the breath
Of myriads, who must, else, this fatal day,
Gasp out their last? What though her eyes are bright,
Her lips are ruddy,--brighter are the gems,
And ruddier, on the crown thou else wilt lose.
When myriads die for thee, may not thy one
Die for the myriads? Thinkest thou her blood'' . . . .

Still was he speaking, when, from off his couch,
Like a struck tiger, sprang the furious king:
His leaping sword made lightning: his teeth gnashed:
Death--white his lips: his eyes were living fire!

''Wretch! cursed of men and gods!'' madly he cried,
And shook the quivering blade; ''a sacrifice
The gods shall have; thy blood, thou toad! thou asp!
Vulture! hyena! Oh for serpents' tongues
To hiss the hate, the loathing of my soul!
Down to the pit! go down!'' While yet he spake,
His vengeful arm 'gan fall. Amid that storm,
No word the seer replied. With look unchanged,
And limbs unstirred, cold and unmoved he stood,
As some grim statue, chiselled from the rock,
Stands in the beating tempest. But, when now
The sword was falling, one swift step he made,--
His arm thrust forth; and, with an iron grasp,
The wrist compressing of the astonished king,
Motionless held it, as if, suddenly,
The flesh were turned to stone. An instant thus
He stood; and on the monarch's countenance
His eye appalling fixed: loosed then his hold;
A pace retired; and, gathering up his robe,
Fearless, and cool, spake out. ''I dread thee not,
King of Assyria; for thy doom I know,
And know my own. Our time not yet is come.
Think'st thou, had I, like other men been weak,
That, at thy summons, hither I had sped,
When even now, beneath the northern wall,
Twelve headless trunks, the victims of thy rage,
A bloody warning give? For punishment
On thee, their slayer, do their ghosts cry out.
Their death was murder! Not from their own thoughts,
But as instructed, spake they. When in vain
They strove to read thy destiny,--on me,
In their perplexity, they called; and I,
I only, read that sealed--up page of Fate,
For uttering which they died. Yea, king, 'twas I,
Barak,--who read it. They are dead! and he
Who taught them, now before their slayer stands,
And fears him not: for, know, earth--ruling king!
Thy life with mine is knit: our day of doom,
One and the same. The hour that sees me fall,
Sees, ere its close, the king of kings a clod.
If of thy life awearied then,--take mine:
If thou would'st live, and have the victory,
Obey the gods; but swiftly, lest too late
Thou may repent. And now, O king, farewell.
My task is ended; soon must thine begin.
But well I see that, with yet heavier hand,
The gods must smite thee, ere thy spirit bow.
Again on me thou'lt call; again I'll come;
Though yet again in vain.'' Confounded quite,
Bewildered utterly,--the king, like one
Who knows not well if yet he is awake,
Or in a dream,--stood still, nor spake a word.
With a wild eye he watched the parting steps
Of that strange being; on his own limbs looked,
As doubting if aright he knew himself;
Then, groaning heavily, upon the couch
Sank backward; and, by bitterest thoughts devoured,
In moody silence lay. Now, all wrapped up
In visions of a dark and dread to--come,
Seemed as no sense he had to present ills,
No life but in that future: eye, nor ear,
Told to the spirit aught: as though deep night
And silence girt him round, unmoved he lay,
Dead to the world without! But, suddenly,
Some hideous battle--cry, from his deep trance
Would startle him; and, springing from the couch,
With haggard face, and wildly wandering eye,
Would he look forth awhile; then sink again,
Buried in blackest musings. So fared he:
Nor, of the millions who to him were slaves,
Might have been found that day one wretch so steeped
In misery, as he, the lord of all.

Meantime, along the sapphire bridge of heaven,
Far, far beyond the canopy of cloud
That mantled earth,--the day--god's lightning steeds,
Through the pure ether rapt his chariot--wheels,
Sounding celestial thunder. To the height
They had ascended; and the steep decline
Half way had measured; yet the hard--fought field
Still was contested: for, like men resolved
On that one day to peril all to come;
To die perchance, but never to submit,
The Assyrian captains strove; and, with like fire,
Their soldiers' hearts inflamed. Aid, too, had come,
Chariots, and horse, and foot,--who, when the scale,
Charged with Assyria's doom, was sinking fast,
Twice had its fall arrested. Once again,
When seemed that utter ruin hovered nigh,
The chariot of Assyria's beauteous queen,
From rank to rank flew on: and, seeing her,
The warrior's breasts, as with new soul infused,
Like beacons freshly kindled, burst at once
In flame intensest. Shieldless, and unhelmed;
Her ebon hair loose flying in the wind,--
She raised aloft her arms, her voice uplift,
And bade them on to glory. As the star
Of morning, while the sun yet sleeps below,
And the gray mist is on the dewy earth,--
Her face was pale, and radiant. Like a Shape
From heaven descended, and to mortal harm
Impassive,--gloriously, and fearlessly,
Through the death--laden air she flew along.
Her spirit fired the host: with deafening shouts,
Onward they bore; and backward, for a time,
Though slowly, drove their enemy. On the mound
Still stood Arbaces; over all the field
Serenely looking, and disposing all.
That day, as yet, from the close battle--clash
Himself had kept aloof; but, when he saw
How, suddenly, with strength and rage renewed,
The foe pressed onward, and the Medes retired,--
Down to the plain he strode; and, with a bound,
Into his blazing chariot springing light,
The reins caught up; and, toward the gleaming throng
Of horse and cars, that restlessly yet stood,
His word awaiting, drove; and to their chief,
The hot Arabian king, thus briefly spake.

''Like thine own mettled steeds, my gallant friend,
I see with this long waiting thou art chafed:
But yet a little bear it; ere the end
Well breathed shall we be all. But, hear me now:
And mark me well. Assyria's royal dame
Is in the field: the king, perchance, abed,
Or revelling with his concubines. Right well,
From the mound's top I saw her, in her car
Flying from rank to rank; and, as she passed,--
Even as a strong wind, sweeping o'er a waste
Of half burned forest, blows it into flame,--
So, with her breath, did she the soldiers' hearts
Kindle to heat intense; that now, behold,
They bear us backward; and, unchecked, perchance,
Some vantage may obtain; or, if nought else,
Defeat may stay, till darkness shelter them.
This go I to prevent: but, most of all,
If fortune favor, would I, in the toils,
Yon beauteous Mischief take,--a prize indeed
Worth half their host; for her great soul alone
Is now their sun; and, wanting her, were they
In utter darkness buried. Heed me then:
Climb thou the mound; and, with a watchful eye,
Observe my course. If through the hostile ranks
Thou see me break,--then, rush on instantly,
With all thy chariots, and thy cavalry,
And sweep them from the plain. But, chiefly, note,
In the instant ere descending, where to find
The warrior--queen; that, with unerring swoop,
Ye may encompass her. Yet, not a hair
Of that most noble head must meet with harm;
No hand must touch her; not a word be breathed,
To wrong, or grieve her. My own life I'd lose
Rather than see her perish; for, in sooth,
Though wife of him whom most we do abhor,--
A creature is she whom the gods themselves
Might proudly throne beside them. Now, these things,
Among the horse and charioteers make known;
Then to the mound; and, with an eagle's eye,
Pierce through the conflict.'' Having spoken thus,
He touched the coursers, and the car flew on.

Arriving soon where still, before the strength
Of the now vaunting foe, the Medes gave way,--
His voice he sent afar; and in their hearts
New courage kindled, and a stern resolve.
Up went a thunder--peal of welcome glad;
And man on man called out, as once again,
With strength revived, they turned. Within his car
Upstanding for a space,--along the front
Of battle looked the Mede, and soon beheld
Where, towering over all, the monstrous bulk
Of Gilgath moved; before him driving still,
With the fell sweep of his colossal arm,
A crowd of shrinking soldiers. Armed complete
In mail of ponderous brass, against him flew
Arrow, or dart, or spear, as 'gainst a wall
Of adamant. Behind his back immense,
His moon--like shield was slung; upon his thigh,--
A burthen for a man of common mould,--
Clanged his huge sword; but in its brazen sheath
Still sleeping; while, sole weapon now, but dread,
With force of both gigantic arms, he swung
An iron--headed club. All ward, or guard,
Against the stroke terrific, vain appeared
As infant's breath to turn the hurricane:
Helmet, or breast--plate, of what strength soe'er,
Yielding as wax. From side to side flew on
The monstrous engine; and, where'er it fell,
Crushed utterly. With sweat, and foam, and dust,
The huge dark face was grimed: his blood--red eyes
Savagely glared; his nostrils were spread out;
His mouth gaped wide; his huge chest rose and fell,
Breathing laboriously. Yet still he toiled;
Step after step, at every ponderous swing,
Advancing still; and through the shrinking mass,
Forcing a gory way. Arbaces saw,
And toward him drove the steeds. The giant paused,--
For the far--flashing chariot caught his eye,--
And bellowed forth defiance. With a smile,
Arbaces heard; and, to his charioteer
The reins committing, bade him there abide:
His battle--axe then took; and, to the ground
Lightly outspringing, with deliberate step
Advanced; and through the swiftly opening ranks,
Moved to confront the foe. No word he spake;
But on the giant fixed his steady eye,
Keen as a sun--break from an opening cloud,
And toward him still advanced. A space all round,
On either side, the hosts from fight refrained;
In silence, and in wonder looking on.

As when the wild bull, in his frenzied rage,
Tears up the ground, and with his bellowing fills
The echoing forest;--fire from out his eyes
He scatters; on his bulky flanks resounds
His fiercely lashing tail; now here, now there,
His sanguine balls he rolls, athirst to gore,
And seems all might of living thing to scorn;--
If, suddenly, the lion's voice he hears,
Or scents him in the wind,--at once is hushed
His stormy roar; the tearing foot stands fixed;
The huge bulk trembles; and the bounding heart
Flutters and stops,--even so, as nigher drew
The dreaded Mede, upon the giant came
A fear, and quaking. O'er his burning face
A pallor 'gan to steal; his blood--red eyes
Dilated, and the rolling orbs were fixed,
As by a spell. With lifted club he stood,
Prepared to strike; yet seemed that all his rage,
And half his strength were gone: his foamy lip
Hung quivering; and his huge knees 'gan to shake.

Within three paces now, the Mede stood still:
With air of one who marvels, but nought fears,
Fixed on the human tower a searching eye,
And, head to foot, surveyed him. Loosely held,
As not for stroke immediate, the great axe
Gleamed in his terrible hand. The glorious form
Stood all at rest,--like to a youthful god
Newly descended, with the light of heaven
Still shining from him, on some prodigy
Of earthly mould to gaze. The axe, at length,
Gently he grounded; on the handle leaned
His ample palm,--even as a traveller,
Who, journeying far, and meeting by the way
A fellow pilgrim, on his staff doth rest,
Brief colloquy to hold,--and, with a smile
Gathering about his lips, thus playfully
The marvelling foe addressed. ''Ere now, methinks,
Better should we have each the other known;
For message not unfrequent, to and fro,
Hath passed between us; and, in closer ties
To bind ourselves,--nay as the arbiters
Of two great nations' destinies,--hast thou
A conference oft invited. Shame to me,
That, to thy friendly greeting, a slow ear
Still have I turned! But gentle fortune now
Befriends me; and, my fault o'erlooking, gives
The boon which justly had been forfeited.
Here, then, at last we meet; and now may well
These great contending empires knit in peace;
Resolving, as the reasons stronger prove,
If the eternal city shall be ours,
Or we your bondslaves be. But not at ease
Thou seemest; and that iron club, methinks,
So long uplifted, even to arm like thine,
Must be a burthen. Rest thee then a space,
Ere thou reply; for truly is thy breath
Laborious; and thy sinews seem unstrung,
As by great toil: meantime, be well assured,
No vantage shall be taken cunningly
To do thee wrong.'' The last word from his lips
Not yet had parted, when, outstriding wide,
On came the monster,--like a thunderbolt,
Driving his hideous engine; at one blow
Resolved, like worm to crush him. Swifter far
Sprang on the Mede;--a lightning glance--a crash,--
Wide flew the loosened club,--one staggering step
Recoiled the bulk,--one moment tottering stood,
Corpse--like, with eye--balls turning inwardly,
And dropping jaw; then, with a heavy squelch,
And clang of battered armour, in a heap,
Sank, like a crumbling ruin, thunder--struck.

Through the thick breast--plate driven, deep in his chest
The axe was buried; bringing with it death,
Immediate, and scarce felt. An instant gazed,
In silence and strange awe, the breathless throngs;
Then a wild clamor raised; a double din,
Of triumph, and of fear. A second look
On their fallen champion, no Assyrian eye
Lingered to give: with faces terror--struck,
In headlong haste they fled. The exulting Medes
Pealed forth loud cries of victory; and, with hearts
Burning as with a fire just shot from heaven,
Again flew on to battle. From the corpse,
His axe Arbaces drew; then, to his car
Swiftly returning, sprang, and stood on high,
And sent his voice abroad. The moment now,
Long waited, had arrived. One backward glance
Toward the mound's top he cast; his arm upflung;
Then headlong on the foe, with shout on shout
Urging assault, his fiery horses drove
Deep in the midst. With keen eye looking forth,
That signal the Arabian king beheld:
Flew to his car,--sprang up,--his lance waved high,--
With clear voice crying onset, rent the air,--
And instantly, beneath thick clouds of horse,
Terribly thundering; and the roll and jar
Of wheels rebounding, the firm champaign shook.

As when a mountain torrent, at the gorge
Of hill--girt dell, sole outlet, is dammed up
By the fallen glacier,--swollen by heavy rains,
And the quick melting of an age's snows,
All the deep basin of the vale it fills;
Till, far beneath the flood, even loftiest trees,
Like some gigantic sea--weed, upright stand;
And, with the ponderous weight of waters, groans
The frozen barrier. Yet still down, down, down,
The impetuous torrent shoots: still more and more
The mountain cauldron deepens. Night to day,
And day to night, and week to week succeeds;--
Yet still with gathering volume pours the stream;
With stronger heave, against their prison gate,
The piled--up waters thrust. The whole huge bulk
Of ice--cliff, base to summit, yields at last:
With noise as when the earthquake grinds his jaws,
Is forced from its hard grip. Inch after inch,
Tottering, it drags along,--hill--sides, and ground,
Like Titan harrow tearing; till, at once,
Loosed altogether,--as from precipice hurled,
Crashing, and shattering, headlong down it goes;
And with stupendous, and appalling burst,--
As when the fountains of the deep broke up,
To drown the world,--forth leaps the roaring flood!
Swift as the arrow's flight, it shoots along,--
Thunder, and foam! As when, from hell--gates 'scaped,
Millions of Spirits, fierce and terrible,
With clang of arms, and God--defying shouts,
Leagues off made Chaos tremble,--such the din
As on its way that watery hell doth hold!
Flocks, men, trees, houses, rocks, like withered boughs
Before the hurricane, it whirls along;
And the green fertile vale, at one fell swoop,
Becomes a torn and ghastly wilderness;--
Even with such uproar, such o'erwhelming force,
The long chained myriads of the Median host,
Chariots, and horse, in the same moment loosed,
Pealed thunder o'er the plain: and, where they passed,
Such havoc, and dire ruin, left behind!

Nebaioth, who the rushing deluge saw,
And knew destruction coming,--from his steed
Hastily leaping, to the horses sprang,
Of the queen's chariot; wheeled them round, and cried,
''Back through the gate! a flood is coming on
That will o'erwhelm us!'' To the charioteer,
With eye of fire, and clarion voice, thus he;
But, in an angry tone, the heroic queen,
Upstanding, said, ''False soldier! loose the reins;
I will not fly.'' ''On! on! 'tis madness all!''
Franticly cried he; ''Oh! most royal dame,
'Tis for Assyria, as for thee, I plead,--
Forgive me, but thou shalt not'' . . . . . . Suddenly dumb,
And horror--struck, there stopped he; for the queen
Staggered, and backward sank: in her fair neck,
A shaft had glanced; and the bright crimson stream
Stained her pure ivory skin. No word she spake;
No cry sent forth: her eye a moment gleamed;
Her countenance paled; a faintness loosed her joints;
But, ere Nebaioth to the chariot sprang,
Her garment she had torn, and, with firm hand,
Pressed to the wound. Her face again was bright,
Though wild and anxious. Turning quickly then
To the young warrior, who, with eager spring,
Beside her stood, and his broad shield thrust forth,
'Gainst farther harm to guard her,--thus she spake:
''Pardon, Nebaioth, my intemperate words,
Ungrateful, and unjust. But now no time
For useless speech. The wound is but skin--deep;
I fear it not, scarce feel: yet the red stream
Shows ghastly; and the sight might more disturb,
Than could my presence cheer the soldiers now.
Though all unwilling, then, I quit the field,
And seek the king. Perchance his bleeding queen
May stir, or shame him to the fight even yet.
But thou, Nebaioth, art an arm of strength:
Thy place is in the front of battle now;
Not by a woman's side: at once then go:
Go--I conjure, command thee.'' As she spake,
Behind them, nor far distant, the dire cloud
Of Median thunder o'er the Assyrians broke.

On the pale countenance of the shuddering queen,
One moment, with wild eye, Nebaioth looked;
One glance upon the hell of war shot back;
Then seized her garment's hem; unto his lips
Fervently pressed it; from the chariot sprang,
And plunged into the fight. At rapid speed
Flew on the royal car,--shot through the gate;
And gained the palace. Horror--struck, the king
His bleeding queen beheld. The word was given;
His arms were donned; his chariot was brought forth;
His guard was summoned; every fighting man
Within the walls, that might to battle go:
And, all for vengeance burning, to the field,
Furiously on they rode. His coming forth
Was seen, and noised abroad; and through his host
New soul was wakened. Desperately, like men
Who value life at nought,--while yet their strength
Upheld them, firm they stood, and wound for wound
Deemed blest exchange; nay, death itself cheap price
For death of enemy. On, from rank to rank,
Flew on the frenzied king; with arm, and voice,
With loud command, encouragement, and threat,
Promise of spoil, and honor, and renown,
Impelling to the combat. But, too late
His tardy coming; and too strong the foe!
Day waned; and darkness gathered over head,
While backward still his wearied troops were driven,
And still the Medes pressed on. Wide stood the gates;
The routed myriads poured like torrents in.
Thicker the darkness grew; that friend from foe
Might scantly be distinguished. Struck with fear,
The king retired. The Median trumpets blew
The signal of recall. No answering blast
The Assyrians sounded; but, with jaded step,
Speechless and panting, thronged into the walls.

Deeper, and deeper fell the Stygian night:
The sky was blotted out; the solid earth
Was black, and formless. Not a breath of air
Fanned the hot gloom; no freshening rain--drop fell;
But they who nigh the river's margin stood,
Heard the dark waters, with unwonted force,
As at a flood's commencement, hurrying on.

By slow degrees, the silence of the night
Fell on the city, and the gory plain.
A solitary torch moved here and there,
Seeking the slain, or wounded. Rapidly,
The watch--fires in the Median camp burst forth:
And, soon, the broad red blaze to heaven's dusk vault
Upshooting,--on it darkly quivering hung,
Like to a blood--stained curtain o'er the dead.

Midnight--and all was hushed: the untended fires
To dark red embers smouldered, and went out;
The watchers were asleep: nor aught was heard
Beneath heaven's canopy, save one low sound,
O'er plain and city rising,--the deep groan
Of dying thousands, and the mourner's wail!