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The Poetical Works of Thomas Aird

Fifth Edition: With a Memoir by the Rev. Jardine Wallace

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II.

Forth borne, and onward through the breathing night,
Freedom was given to Julian's limbs and sight.
Within the city wall the party stood,
A stream in front, behind a scattered wood.
The skirring moon flew on her shining track,
And from her horn-tips tossed the wispy rack,
Boring the West; o'er snowy Atlas high,
Ranged through the clearness of the southern sky,
With lengthened beams the stars told morn was nigh.
“Disperse, disguise ye, shun that vengeful King,”
Bespoke the Chief his guards; “you know the spring
Beyond the northern wall? I'll wait you there:
Steal through the various gates: once more, Beware!
Away! away! this youth shall be my care.”

177

They went. To Julian said the Chief: “We spare thee
For one test more; let time and thought prepare thee:
O'er Fez we'll ride; we hold thee in our power,
To deal with thee in that decisive hour.
Come on with me; beyond the tyrant's thrall
This stream shall sweep us, issuing 'neath yon wall.
But ha! what's this?” For glimpsing points of mail,
Seen through the trees, his startled eyes assail.
Armed guards came on:—“Yield to thy King; prepare,
Sir Chief, thy bloody outrage to declare!”
They cried. Forth flashed Zemberbo's scimitar,
And on the foremost fell its edge of war
With sharing gash; and through a second fast,
And through a third, the shearing vengeance passed;
Still met the hemming foe with savage haste,
And shed defiance far and killing waste.
Like fire-scrolled parchments, shrunk his shag lips round,
Baring his ivory teeth that fiercely ground;
Heaved his wide nostril with disdainful ire;
Shook his black locks; gleamed his great eye of fire;
Swept his unbaffled arm: with many a stride
Far-shifting, sped his work from side to side,
Till, pressed by numbers, in the stream he dashed,
A moment sank, then rose, and fiercely flashed
Above the breasted billows, highly waved
His dripping sword, and thus the danger braved:—
“Caitiffs, we yet shall meet! yea, tell your King,
Of bloody sabres shall we presents bring.
High on his turrets watching, let him see
Our coming-on, which gloriously shall be
By lights of burning towns—wild measuring line,
O'er hill and valley shall it stretch and shine!
Now for the lantern of yon imaged moon,
To guide us forth: vengeance—we'll have it soon!”

178

He said, and down into the waters went;
They gurgled round him, nor his reascent
His watchful foes could see. But hark! that shout
Beyond the wall: the stream has borne him out.