The Fall Of Nineveh. Book The Sixteenth Poem by Edwin Atherstone

But, in a little while, as passed the smoke,
And to the gloom the eye grew reconciled,--
Slowly did War from his deep torpor wake:
And, when the Medes, near the yet smouldering mounds,
Huge piles of fuel saw,--with eager haste
They 'gan rekindle them: but this withstood
The enemy; and, forthwith, round every fire,
Quickly the contest thickened. So fared these.

Meantime, the Assyrians, who had crossed the bridge,
Stood on the farther bank, and cast their eyes
On that strange conflict. In the hearts of some,
Was joy for their escape. They looked to see
The downfall of Assyria's tyranny;
Expecting, with the morrow's light, to stand
Enrolled among her conquerors. But no few
Were natives of the city: they their eyes
Turned on it mournfully; and on their homes,
Their wives, their parents, and their children thought.

Of these was Tartan,--o'er the royal guard
Chief captain. Of the royal blood was he;
Faithful, and noble, brave, and well beloved.
But three days was he wedded; beautiful
His gentle spouse; and in his inmost soul
Did he adore her. By the press borne on,
He had crossed the bridge; but, while the cry arose,
``Long live the Medes! may the proud city fall!,''--
His voice had lifted, and the boon refused,
By treason to be bought. Yet, urged along
By that dense tide of men, no power had he
The life to offer, which he scorned to hold,
So purchased,--in his own despite thus safe.
On the great city casting now his eyes,
Tearful and dim, ``No! no!'' he said; ``come death,
And blessëd come, far rather than stained life!
'Gainst thee, thou glorious city of my birth,
Never can I the ingrate sword uplift!
Be this arm withered, rather than enact
The foul, unnatural deed! No terms have I
Accepted of the rebel; for, by force
Was I driven hither; and with honor, then,
May strive against him. And oh! where art thou,
My best belovëd, in this dreadful hour?
How is thy gentle soul made desolate!''

Thus thinking, by the river's bank he stood;
Now toward the city, now the battle, looked:
But, when he saw the fires extinguished all,
And that a silence suddenly had fallen,--
Within himself he said, ``The contest now
Surely is ended; and, until the dawn,
There will be rest. If but this numerous throng,
Here standing idle gazers, could be armed,
And led again into the field,--even still
Might we have hope of victory.'' Toward the bridge,
Where yet was gleam of torchlight--by the Mede
So ordered--next he looked, and inly said;
``Surely they cannot at this distance see;
For night is thick about me.'' Then he stripped
His gorgeous festive mantle: to the gods
A silent prayer put up; a blessing called
On his loved wife; and in the deep stream plunged.

In darkness he the swift and turbulent wave
Did buffet: but his youthful limbs were strong,
His heart resolved: the river he crossed o'er;
And safe, though breathless, stood upon the bank.

Then from its moorings he a boat unloosed;
Leaped in it; seized the oars; and rapidly,
Again the river crossed. Unto the bank
As he drew nigh, his plashing strokes were heard;
And numbers toward the boat went eagerly.

Leaping on land, before the crowd he stood;
His arms uplift, attention to invite;
And, with low tone, thus spake. ``In this obscure,
Few see;--perchance none know me. Yet 'tis fit
Ye learn with what authority I speak.
Prince Tartan, captain of the Royal Guard,
Is he who now commands you. Silent stand;
And mark me heedfully; then, 'mid the throng
Go some of you; and unto all make known
The thing that must be done. Boats numerous lie
Beside the farther bank. Let, then, each man
Who crosses, one of those unloose,--return,--
And a full load take back; till every boat
Shall ply the stream, and every soldier 'scape.
But cautious be; and whisper, if ye speak.
And let none strive for precedence; but still,
The nearest, first embark. One hot, loud word
Might bring the foe upon you, and quick death.
Landed,--straight toward the royal armoury
At once make speed; arm,--and in order wait
Till I shall come to you.'' That said, again
Into the boat he sprang; and, after him,
Those nearest,--till he signed, no room for more;
And thrust it from the bank. Arrived, in haste,
As they had been commanded, every man
A boat unloosed; recrossed; and, with full load,
Unto the city side returned anew.

Some to the gates advanced, and called aloud
Upon the watchers. Then the portals wide
Were opened; and the fliers went within.
Thus all the boats were loosened: through the night,
Went to and fro; and every man escaped.

Nor, by the Median guard beyond the bridge,
Aught was this noted; so were eye, ear, thought,
To the dread battle chained immovably.

But, not by all were these things unobserved.
Rabsaris, when the city he had left,
At great speed onward drove: till, having reached
The house of one in whom he might place trust,--
And shades of night now falling rapidly--
He lighted from the chariot; on the door
Struck hurriedly: and, when the man came forth,
Besought him that, till break of day, he there
Might, with his daughter, tarry. Cheerfully,
Was he made welcome. He took then the steeds
From out the car, and to the stable led:
With water sparingly, with corn upheaped,
Their wants supplied; then to the house returned;
Took food, and wine; and lay him down to sleep.

But slumber came not: he arose, erelong,
Restless, and anxious; and, forth looking, saw
The far--off city, and the spacious camp,
Starred with its countless fires. While yet he looked,
Lo! a great sound arose, shrill cries of fear,
And trumpets harshly screaming. In amaze
He listened; and, again, o'er all the din,
A wild cry heard, as of a perishing host.

Now more and more he marvelled, and thus said;
``What may this token? Hath the scattered Mede
Gathered again his strength? or new revolt
Outbroken? Or the Bactrian, hath he turned
His arm against the city?'' Then he went,
And called his daughter to him, and their host;
And bade them also to look forth, and say
What this might mean. But nothing could they judge,
And greatly were bewildered; for the din
Yet louder waxed; and, soon, they might descry
Chariots careering, and the flash of arms.
Rabsaris to his host now turned, and said;
``Come thou with me. Let us ascend the car,
And toward the city quickly take our way,
That we may see; for surely some great thing
Hath come to pass.'' So they girt on them swords;
Brought forth the car, and horses; and, straightway,
Toward the bridge hastened. But Azubah rose,
And from the house--top looked forth anxiously
Toward camp and city. Fearful for the king,
Then in her heart she said: ``If evil now
Be coming on him, never will I fly;
But on the morrow will return to him:
And that which for my father I have done,
He will forgive; and I to him may be
A comforter, when he hath none beside.''

Meantime, Rabsaris, speeding toward the bridge,
While yet far distant, saw, or thought he saw,
Thereon the flare of torches; and, beyond,
A glimmer, as of arms. What this might be,
He marvelled, yet went on; though slower now,
And with more heedful look. South of the bridge,
Along the river's bank, at length, he saw
What seemed a crowd of men: but silent all;
Or, in the uproar of the distant fight,
Unheard. The rein then suddenly he drew,
And looked again, and listened. A low hum
Of voices seemed to rise; and more and more
Was he confounded. But, in whisper now,
Trembling in every limb, his host thus spake:
``Let us turn back, or mischief may befall;
For, if they see us, verily we die.''
Yet nought Rabsaris feared, and thus replied:
``Abide thou in the car: if any man
Against thee come,--ply scourge, and save thyself:
But, if no evil threaten thee, remain
Till I return; for surely to the men
Will I draw near, and hearken.'' Having said,
He from the chariot stepped; and cautiously
Went onward toward the throng. When nigh them come,
He saw that all the people were unarmed,
And some great sadness on them. Then he walked
Boldly among them; and, to all he heard,
Anxiously listened; yet himself spake not,
Lest any man should know him. When he, now,
Had gathered from their talk what things had chanced:
And when he had the multitude espied
Escaping by the boats,--he hasted back
Unto the car, and to his host thus said:
``The Medes and Bactrians, with a mighty strength,
Fell on the Assyrians, feasting, and unarmed;
And are o'erwhelming utterly. Those men
Who crowd the river's bank,--on promise given
That they the tyrant would no longer serve,
But to the Medes vow fealty,--from death
Were spared, and sent unharmed across the bridge:
Yet, faithlessly, into the city now,
By thousands, are they stealing. Drive thou, then,
Across the bridge,--for there the Median horse
And chariots watch--and tell it them aloud.
No man of these will see thee. I, meantime,
Will pass the river with the multitude,
And to the city speed; that I may know
Where most its weakness is; for, even this night,
Perchance it will be ours. Haste, then: fear nought.
Nor for my safety fear; for, in the gloom,
And in this robe attired, by not a man
Shall I be known.'' Thus saying, and reply
Awaiting not, with dauntless air he went,
And mingled in the press: the river crossed;
Passed through the gate; and hurriedly sped on.

But, when the man whom he had counselled thus,
A little distance toward the bridge had gone,--
He checked the steeds, and to himself thus said:
``Now, wherefore in this danger should I go?
I am a man of peace, and love not strife:
I, also, of much substance am possessed;
Have sons, and daughters; and yet many years
May hope to live: but, in this dangerous thing
If I do meddle, I may be cut off;
And in a moment lose, what all my life,
From morn till night, I labored to obtain.
Gladly would I the haughty one behold
In her pride humbled; but, is not the breath
Within my nostrils, of more worth to me
Than weal, or woe, of all the earth beside?
And wherefore, then, should I this peril brave?
Even let the hosts contend. To whom He will,
God can the victory give; and needeth not
My serving. Safely, then, will I look on;
But meddle not, where I can nothing gain.''

So he; undreaming that his cowardice,
From the death--stroke would save Assyria's king.

Then round he wheeled the horses, that for flight
He might be ready; drew the reins; stood up;
And, backward looking, toward the river, now,
Now, toward the roaring plain, gazed fearfully.

Rabsaris, meantime, in the city roamed,
Boldly, and swiftly. Everywhere he heard
Sounds of great terror: all the streets were thronged,
With frenzied multitudes: gray--headed men;
And tottering children, by their mothers led;
Young boys, and agëd women; trembling girls;
Pale virgins, bright and beautiful as morn,
And delicate as bud of tenderest flower,--
All in this night of terror were abroad.

With rapid step still hurried he along,
All things observing; but the lightning's speed
Longed to command; that, in one point of time,
He everywhere might be. Close by, at length,
A mailed steed he beheld; and, tending him,
A groom, who for the rider waiting stood.
Forward then sprang he; seized upon the rein;
And, when the man resisted, and cried out,--
With strong arm flung him headlong to the ground;
Leaped on the horse; and rode off furiously:--
Yet, as he went, still warily marked all;
And no man questioned him. But now, at length
Before Nebaioth's gateway, he beheld
The flaming chariot, and the milk--white steeds,
Of the Assyrian monarch; and, around,
A throng of horsemen, in bright panoply,
Who seemed awaiting him: and, by the talk
Among the people who stood watching them,
He learned that on the king had suddenly come
A grievous sickness; yet that resolute
Was he to rise anon, and lead the fight.

Then sped he swiftly; through the crowded gate
Of Ninus forced at length his difficult way;
Flung up the rein, and, at his utmost speed,
Along the battle--field the horse impelled.

Meantime, among the Assyrians was there rout,
Fearful, and deadly. Also of the Medes
Perished no few; for, in confusion dire
The hosts were mingled; and, on neither side,
Could voice of leader be at distance heard.
The fires, too, that had newly kindled been,
Again burned low, and over all the field
A dark red radiance cast. Near toward its noon
Was now the night. Arbaces looked around
On the entangled mass, and thus aloud:
``Oh that, before the glorious Light--god comes,
Our banners on the haughty wall might wave!
Could all the host at once, both see, and hear,
And follow in one body to the gates,--
Surely the city in our hands would fall!
But, in this burning gloom, few eyes can see
Where I would lead them; in this uproar wild,
Few ears can hear me. Mighty god of war!
Send us a flood of lightnings, as a torch
To lead us to the gates! and give my voice
To speak with more than thunder; that all ears
At once may hear me.'' Ceasing, he moved on
Toward where, with cavalry, and numerous cars,
Fought Ahab,--him against the gates to urge.
But, when short distance he had gone, behold!
Before him the pavilion of the king,--
Like to a purple cloud appearing, first,
But, soon, aright discerned,--and, on its floor,
Furiously warring, an Assyrian force,
With arrow, sword, spear, dart, and battle--axe,
Against the Bactrian foot defending it.

This when Arbaces saw, he cried aloud,
``Bring hither fire! Strike in the red--hot brands
Your spear--points: bear them boldly, and fling up;
And we will turn this lurid to great light.
Fire, fire, bring fire!'' So crying, from his car
At once he leaped; and, with his huge lance poised,
Went forward, running swiftly. On the floor
Of the pavilion, the gigantic form
Of Anak stood, nigh to the royal stairs;
And, with a monstrous mace, brass--headed, smote
All who to climb them strove. His lips with foam
Were covered, and his eyes shot living flame.
But, toward himself, when, with death--threatening spear,
He saw Arbaces bent,--his whole huge strength
Up--gathering,--'gainst him, as from catapult shot,
He launched the ponderous mace;--with head out--stretched,
And starting eye--balls, watched its flight, and fall;
Then, fear--struck, turned, and fled. Straight to its mark,
Rapidly whirling, booming through the air,
Held onward the grim Mischief. Its sure aim
Arbaces noted; lightly stepped aside,
And the full crush escaped: yet 'scaped not all;
For, on his buckler's rim, with such dire clang,
Came down the whirling brass, that, jarred to the bone,
His strong arm dropped. Nor ended there its rage:
Rebounding from the earth,--so forcefully
A youth beloved and honored by the Mede
It smote, that, as by lightning, he fell dead.

Arbaces saw, and dreadful was his wrath.
Vengeance resolving,--up the cedar stairs,
At a bound he sprang; and through the terrified throng,
O'erthrowing all that stood within his way,
Pursued the coward foe. Then Anak saw
That flight was vain; and, turning, drew his blade,
Crying aloud, ``Upon him every man!
He is Arbaces, the arch--rebel. Smite!
Cut him to pieces! give his flesh to dogs!''

Like hounds upon the lion, at these words,
'Gainst him the Assyrians turned. Them heeding not,
Arbaces drew his sword; on Anak flew,
And, as with thunderbolt, smote him. Crashed the mail;
Out burst the life--stream; and, like tree hewn down,
The whole mass fell together. On all sides,
As in same point of time, flashed then his blade;
His shield dashed numbers down: his voice, and look,
Stiffened the arms that were uplift to strike.
All shrank before him, and unharmed he passed.

But, when again upon the ground he stood,
He from a soldier took a red--hot brand,
Borne on a spear; and close beside the planks
Thrust, and there held it. When this thing they saw,
Again the Assyrians hotly on him flew,--
Spears and darts hurling. Some, yet madder, leaped
Down the stairs headlong; and, with sword and axe,
Began more close assault. But, with his shield
Before him held, he stood, and called for fire:
And, as the soldiers brought, and cast it down,
He with the spear still thrust it to the planks:
And, when to snatch it thence a foe drew nigh,
Forward he sprang, and slew, or wounded him.
Of Bactrians, many to assist him came;
But, of Assyrians, to oppose, far more:
So that the strife and tumult now waxed great;
And the hot brands were scattered, and burned not.

But, in a fire at hand, one blazing log,
A burthen for a man of common strength,
Arbaces saw; and, by the unscorched end,
Grasping it, called aloud to clear the way:
Then, with full swing of his herculean arm,
'Gainst the pavilion cast it. Roaring up,
Like to a meteor streaming,--it burst through;
Among the startled thousands flaming fell;
And, in few moments, silken roof, and sides,
One sheet of fire became; that, for brief time,
Flooded the camp with splendor. Headlong down
The scared Assyrians hasted. To his car
Ascending then, Arbaces raised his voice:
``Now toward the gates at once--horse, chariots, foot!
The city shall be ours. Cry out aloud,
That all may hear it, `to the gates! the gates!'''

Then did the horsemen and the charioteers,
Send forth their voices, and urge on their steeds:
Throughout the Median, and the Bactrian force,
The cry was echoed, ``to the gates! the gates!''
And a great rush began. But bravely yet,
Foot, horse, and cars, the Assyrians fronted them.

Rabsaris, when short distance on the plain
He had advanced,--before him, to the right,
The Median cars beheld; and, towering high
Above them all, Arbaces. Him to meet,
Swiftly then rode he; and, when nigh at hand,
Cried out, ``I am Rabsaris. Hearken now,
Arbaces; and the city shall be thine.''

In wonder, on that haggard face, awhile,
Arbaces gazed, and spake not: but, at length:
``In that gay robe attired, I knew thee not.
Come up into the car.'' With loud voice then,
Unto the charioteers who near him rode,
``Hold hard your steeds,'' he cried: ``till word be given,
Stir not a man.'' Rabsaris eagerly
Leaped to the ground, and in the chariot sprang.

Freed from his rider, the loud--neighing horse
Tossed his proud head, and shook his curling mane,--
Wildly looked here, and there--and bounded on.

Then to the Mede in haste Rabsaris thus;
``'Scaped from the dungeon,--needs not to tell how,--
Straight from the city come I--Mark me then.
The tyrant will to battle. I beheld,
Close to Nebaioth's gate, his steeds and car
Awaiting him;--for, with the fumes of wine,
Sore drunken hath he been; but gathers strength.
If, then, with horse, or chariots, through the gate
Of Nisroch thou wilt haste; and also send
Chariots, or horsemen, through the gate of Palms,
That they may go about, and bar escape,--
Betwixt you he must fall. But, come what may,
Return will easy be; for uproar wild
Is over all the city; and no man
Knows what to do, or what to leave undone.''

Arbaces listened, and thus, doubtfully;
``We thought thee dead, Rabsaris; and, in truth,--
So dire the ruin by thy madness wrought,--
Scarce pitied thee. Ill Fortune dogs thee close!
How know we if, again with thee colleagued,
The inexorable Fate, pursuing thee,
May not again crush us?'' ``Be merciful!''
Exclaimed Rabsaris,--``madness was it all!
Stark madness! But mine eyes again are clear;
My Reason is in sunlight. Trust me then.''

For answer, on his charioteers, the Mede
Cried joyfully; ``To Abdolonimus
Haste, some of you; and bid him quickly here,
With five score chariots only. Even but now,
I passed him in the rear, and called him on.
Haply he heard me not.'' At once went forth
Two chariots from the group; but all the rest,
Even as they stood, remained: and they who heard,
Wondered, and knew not what might be to come.

Not long they marvelled; for, the Arabian king
Arriving soon, to him with loud voice cried
The Mede, that all might hear; ``Haste thou away;
And through the gate of Palms at swiftest drive,
Straight toward the fountain of Semiramis.
North of the square, before Nebaioth's house,
The chariot of the king thou wilt behold,
Waiting to bring him forth. But if, perchance,
He should be gone,--then onward to the square
Of Jupiter drive rapidly; and, thence,
Right toward the gate of Nisroch. Like thyself,
With five score chariots only, I, meantime,--
The gate of Nisroch entering,--toward the square
Of Jupiter will speed; and onward, thence,
Straight toward the fountain of Semiramis.
Betwixt us thus the king shall surely fall.
Now get thee gone; and drive on steadily.
And let no voice be lifted, lest the words
Betray you. I, awhile, will here abide,--
For mine the shorter course,--that both at once
May fall together on the astonished king;
And slay perchance, or capture.'' ``Though ye fail,''
Cried out Rabsaris, ``your return is safe.
The city, wheresoever I have been,
Was filled with women only, aged men,
And children; and with those that bear not arms.''

Nodding for answer, Abdolonimus
Called to his charioteers; and they flew on.

Next, to Rabsaris spake the Median king:
``For thee, my friend, befits not, mailed in silk,
That on this perilous errand thou should'st go.
Mount then some car; that to the battle's rear
Thou may'st be borne; and safely there abide,
Till morning rise; or till the strife be done.''

Angrily came the answer. ``Never! no!
Thou dost me wrong, Arbaces. What foul act
Hath stained my name, that, like a frighted girl'' . . .

There stopped he; for a chariot, rapidly
Right toward them driving, came. The charioteer,
Standing, and leaning backward, with both hands
Drew at the reins. Nigh to the Median car,
The steeds at length were stayed; and heavily
The warrior fell to earth. Arbaces knew;
And to assist him hastened: but the hand
Of death had touched him: open stood his eyes,
Glaring, and meaningless; his jaw had dropped.
A moment on him looked the Mede; sighed deep;
Then to Rabsaris thus. ``The chance of war
Comes to decide our difference. Malachi
Hath fallen; and his vacant chariot now
May bear thee to the city. Speed thee then;
Take thou his armour, helmet, sword, and shield;
And gird thee for the combat.'' Instantly
Upstarting, from the car Rabsaris leaped:
In the bright mail, rejoicing, clad himself;
Girt on his thigh the sword; upon his head
The helmet fixed; braced on his arm the shield;
And in the chariot sprang. Arbaces then
Stood upright, looked around him, and cried out:
``Now toward the Nisroch gate: but silently:
And, as ye see me do, so do ye all.''

That said, he sat; and soon, in ordered line,
Car following car, at slow pace all went on.

No enemy opposed; since, to their left,
The battle chiefly raged; and distant view
Was none: for now again the light grew dim;
The blaze of the pavilion had sunk down;
And a red gloom once more was o'er the field.
So, gently, and in silence, they moved on.

But, nigh the gate when now Arbaces drew,
And saw armed soldiers issuing; and that hope
Of quiet entrance could be none,--at once
Upstood he; looked behind him; and cried out:
``Now, now, lash on your horses, and burst through.''

In the same moment every scourge was raised;
And every horse--foot spurned the trembling ground;
And, with a rush as of a mighty wind,
Right toward the gate they flew. Their coming on,
The enemy saw: some lifted spear, or dart,
Intent to oppose; but most, with breathless haste,
Turned back, and fled. Like a swift mountain stream
O'erflooded, bursting through a narrow chasm;
With fury uncontrollable, and noise,
Making the rocks to tremble;--through the gate,
So irresistibly Arbaces burst.

Twice twenty cars alone the portal cleared;
For, pierced to the heart, a courser dropped down dead:
Down with him dropped his fellow, struggling hard:
The chariot, sharply checked, with loud clash fell;
And blocked the way; that, with a sudden shock,
Car against car throughout the line was driven:
All were stopped short; and great confusion rose.

Arbaces saw not, heard not,--such the roar
Of leaping wheels, the iron clang of hoofs,--
And, with but two score chariots, onward flew.

The square of Jupiter he passed, where still,
Praying and sacrificing, stood the priests:
Before the ancient, dark, gigantic pile
Of Ninus shot; and, soon, the fountain reached,
Named of Semiramis. While distant still,
Horsemen and cars, before Nebaioth's gate
Awaiting, he beheld; and a great flare
Of numerous torches: but his eagle eye
Told him the royal car was empty yet.
Upstanding then, and looking back, his arm
He lifted, and cried ``Hold! hold hard your steeds!''

Quickly the cars were stayed. Arbaces then,
Alighting, backward walked; and, taking place
Where best throughout the line he might be heard,
With slow, clear utterance spake. ``Too soon we come;
The tyrant is not there. But, mark me now.
If, as I hope, he shall at once be slain,--
No needless conflict would I with the rest;
But wheel round instantly, and backward speed,
Our missing friends to join: then, with them haste,
The Arabian king to meet: for all our strength
Tasked may be now, through any northern gate
A pass to force. Meantime, in silence wait:
And, when we come upon them, 'gainst the king,
Him only, hurl your spears.'' That said, he turned:
Again into his car sprang eagerly;
And, on the royal chariot, his keen eye,
Like steadfast lightning, fixed. So long he watched,
That the loud--panting, restless steeds, at length,
Drawing calm breath, stood still: but yet the car
Empty remained: and, from the battle--plain,--
As from a storm--lashed ocean, 'gainst the cliffs
Angrily thundering,--when, with louder din,
Borne on the breeze, the horrible uproar came,
Impatient grew he; and with anxious thoughts
Sore troubled. ``All the night through might we watch
Unflaggingly; yet miss at last our prey;
While, meantime, the grand crowning victory--stroke
Might have been stricken.'' To Prince Geber then,
At last thus spake he. ``Safely till the morn
Here might we bide; for they who hurry by
Regard us not; and yonder cars and horse,
All looking for the king, behold us not:
But even one hour from this great battle lost,
May be as loss of kingdoms. On his bed,
Doubtless the drunkard lies, and cannot stir.
No longer then--Ha! look! he comes! he comes!
The lightning helm betrays him! Onward now--
Yet gently, till within short arrow--flight
We shall have neared them.'' Geber heard; the steeds
Touched lightly; and the chariots all moved on.
Due distance gained, ``Away!'' cried out the Mede;
``Heed not their numbers; but like thunderbolt
Break in upon them!'' At those stirring words,
Geber flung up the reins; raised high the scourge,
And smote the coursers; right against the horse
That girt the chariot driving. Pale, yet wroth,
The monarch, at that instant, to his car,
Giddy and faint, was climbing; his hot steeds
Impatient to be gone. With ears erect,
They, first, the sound of coming wheels had caught;
And, as it neared them, from the toiling grooms,
Snorting, and rearing, struggled to get free.
The king, yet mounting, caught the sound, and paused,
Anxiously listening: to himself then said:
``Who from the battle comes so furiously?
Can all be lost?--Or be the tidings good?''

Even in that moment, urged to hottest speed,
The chariot of Arbaces, 'gainst the horse
Round the king's chariot, drove. Astonished, they
Sprang, as they might, aside. Free space thus left,
Right toward the royal car flew on the Mede;
And, passing, hurled his lance. The marvelling king,
Just seated, like the rush of vulture's wing,
Close to his ear its sullen whirring heard;
But the foe knew not: for, like flash of light,
The chariot passed him. With sharp hiss flew next,
As he shot by, the spear of Azareel:
Touched on the monarch's shoulder--wounding not:
And, the next moment, driven with madman's rage,
The lance of stern Rabsaris, on his helm
Glanced, and held onward. But that sight, and sound,
The horses of the king no more would bide:
From the scared grooms who held them, with wild bound,
Away they sprang; and every other spear,
Hurled at him, missed the mark. From their amaze,
Erelong recovering, the Assyrian horse
And chariots fiercely 'gan the Medes assault:
But, when they saw Arbaces 'mid the foe,
Madder their terror, and their fury grew;
And, with loud cries, each on the other called
To slay him. He, meantime, round wheeling, saw
The chariot of the king in rapid flight;
And, pointing with his spear, cried, ``Look! he flies!
Let him not 'scape! Away, away! lash on!''

Then every Median charioteer, his steeds
Turned hastily. Arbaces, at their head,
Stood in his car, and shook his beamy lance,
Death threatening. From the terror of his arm,
And from his look, the enemy shrank aside;
And swift as flight of eagle he shot by,
The king pursuing. Close behind him went
His chariots also: against them the darts
And spears flew thick: yet harmless they escaped.

Then, when the Assyrians saw the enemy pass,
Each on the other called, and furiously
Rode after them; still crying as they went,
``The Mede! the Mede! the Mede! O'ertake and slay!''

Unequalled were the coursers of the king,
And all pursuit defied. He, looking back,
His enemy in full career beheld;
The charioteers upstanding, and the scourge
Plying unceasingly: but, gladder sight!
Behind them close, Assyrian cars and horse,
Hotly pursuing. Onward as he went,
All knew him; and a thousand voices cried,
``Long live the king! long live Assyria's king!
Long live Sardanapalus, king of kings!
The king to battle goeth; and our foes
Shall surely fall before him!'' But, while thus
They clamored, the alarm behind him grew:
Voice after voice arose, ``The Mede! the Mede!
The Mede is in the city! Haste! Pursue!
Pursue, and slay! The Mede! the Mede! the Mede!''

Still fled the king,--his soul with terror filled;
His brain confused, as in a fearful dream;
That, what to do, he knew not. Doubtfully
Self--questioning then, he said: ``Shall I thus fly
Ingloriously before a rebel foe?
Or shall I turn, and meet him? But my limbs
Are feeble; my heart faileth. 'Gainst him now
If I go on, surely shall I be slain;
And all my glories, all my loved delights,
Will perish like a vapour! But what then!
Is not my sole dominion o'er half earth
Threatening to pass for ever? And, disthroned,
What were life worth to me? No--let them go
Together, or together still be mine!
This arm indeed is feeble; but my foes
Are few; and fate may yet be merciful.''

Determined so, to Dara he cried out,
``Wheel round the chariot; for, against the Mede
I will go on; and slay him, or be slain.''

While self--communing thus, at rapid speed
Through the great square of Jupiter he drove.
And, when they saw him, from the multitude
Went up a joyful clamor. Then cried out
The priests who at the altar sacrificed,
``An omen! lo! an omen! Still the king
Shall triumph; and the city shall not fall!''

That hearing, the dense throng of men sent up
Yet gladder cries: and when, to curb the steeds,
And turn the chariot, Dara now began,
Thickly they gathered round: but loud he called,
``Stand from the way; the rebel is behind:
Make room, that 'gainst him may the king go on.''

The king cried also, ``On him, every man!
Ten thousand golden talents unto him
That slays Arbaces!'' While he spake, the throng
Turned, and beheld, like a dark running fire,
The chariot of the Mede; behind it close,
The rebel cars; and, in a hot pursuit,
The Assyrian chariots following, and the horse.

The Mede, now drawing nigh, again stood up;
And shook a glittering spear. To the bright glare
Of torches, and the altar fires, his arms
Shone vividly: his face was like fierce flame.
The trembling throng on every side shrank back:
Nor was the king unfearing; for too well
The strength of that terrific arm he knew;
And felt his own was feeble. Yet he stood,
Poising his spear, and in his heart thus prayed:
``Great god of battles! whosoe'er thou art,
Give me to send this scourge unto the pit;
And to thy name I will a temple build
That shall o'erlook the clouds.'' As thus he prayed,
Meteor--like, the terrible Mede drew nigh;
His great spear glittering, his left foot advanced,
His body leaning back, that with the blow
He might spring onward. Terror then, and rage,
Seized on the king: his lance, with all his might,
He hurled; but lifted instantly his shield,
The answer dreading. Full upon his breast
The weapon struck the enemy; but dropped down,
Innocuous. In the self--same moment flew,
With force as by some mighty engine cast,
The Mede's gigantic lance. The king's broad shield,--
As yet but half uplifted, and askaunt,--
With clangor horrible near the rim it struck;
Pierced not, but 'gainst him dashed it, and flew by;
Till, on the flinty pavement ringing loud,
Fire streaming as it ran, it passed from sight.

Shuddering, the monarch saw. Down dropped his arm,
Stunned by the blow; his brain was in a whirl;
His tongue was speechless; dazzled were his eyes;
And, reeling, he sank back. Then, instantly,
The spear of Azareel his breastplate smote:
Passage found not; but, with an angry ring,
That jarred him to the heart, struck, and glanced off.
Up sprang the king; another lance caught up,
And aimed for vengeance; but the foe was gone.

Next came Rabsaris. Him,--in armour strange,
And all unlooked for,--might the king have seen,
Yet known not; but that his pale, quivering lip,
Bright, burning eye, and deeply--muttered curse,
Like to a tiger's growl, betokened him.
Amazed the monarch saw; and wrathfully
His lance hurled at him. But, with deadlier rage,
Baring his hard--closed teeth, Rabsaris threw;
And, throwing, forward sprang, till from the car
Well nigh he tumbled. Half way on their course,
The spear--shafts touched; and from their aim both glanced.
The weapon of Rabsaris, on the leg
Grazed Dara; but the spear--point of the king,
One of the horses of his enemy smote,
Lancing the nostril. Hastily drew back
The wounded courser, shaking his arched neck,
Snorting, and struggling hard, as from the pang
To free himself. His frighted fellow, too,
Drew back; and suddenly the car was stopped.

The chariot also of the king was stayed;
For Dara,--by the javelin keenly stung,--
Convulsively starting, sharply jerked the reins,--
Turning the horses and the car aside,--
And, harshly grating, wheel 'gainst wheel was driven;
Shocked--and stood fixed. With yell of fierce delight,
Rabsaris, like a panther on his prey,
Sprang in the car of the astonished king,
And grappled with him. In one hand, with clutch
Rapid as stroke of tiger's paw, he seized
The gilded band that underneath the chin
The helm secured; and, with the other, sought
To draw his dagger. By the bony fist
That pressed against his throat, nigh suffocate,
The king, unaided, speedily had fallen;
For now the weapon in his enemy's hand
Was lifted for the stroke: the neck was bare:
``This for my daughter!'' cried the frenzied chief,
And drove the dagger. But, in that small space
Between the blow's commencement, and its end,
Upon the falling arm so strongly smote
The spear of Dara, that the iron nerves
Relaxed; the hard--clenched fingers lost their hold;
The dagger, bloodless, dropped. To frenzy fired,--
His left hand still against the monarch's throat,--
Rabsaris, with a look like some wild beast
Maddened with hunger, when his prey is snatched,--
To Dara turning, shrieked. ``Ah, wretch accursed!
Who in a moment robb'st me of the fruit
Of years of toil, and anguish, worse than death!
Thy bones be gnawed by wolves! thy soul go down
Into the bottomless pit!'' While yet he spake,
To draw his sword he strove; but the stunned nerves
Obeyed him not; his hand hung motionless.
In wrath then to his charioteer, ``thou fool!
Out with thy sword, and strike!'' But other thoughts
Possessed the driver. With uplifted spear,
Dara confronted him; Assyrian cars
And horse were speeding onward. With loud voice,--
While he drew back the steeds, the wheels to clear,--
Then to Rabsaris called he; ``Quick! Return!
Or perish instantly.'' Rabsaris saw
That all was vain, and, cursing bitterly,
Sprang to his seat again. Confused, and wild,
Grew now the struggle; for the Assyrian horse,
And cars, came on; and, in the self--same time,
The Median chariots also, which, at length,
With labor hard had passed the gate; and all
In conflict undistinguishable mixed.

Arbaces, when his friends he first beheld,
Rejoiced, and with a glad voice called them on;
For now he deemed assuredly the king
Must perish. But, when round his car was wheeled
To go against him, lo! an iron wall
Of chariots, and mailed horse, encompassed him;
And a thick multitude, with spear and dart,
Prepared to cast. Yet still, with terrible voice,
His warriors leading on--right in the midst
He drove; and none before his face dared stand.

But soon the Assyrians, with fast--gathering force,
Hovered around, and hemmed them in; that seemed
Destruction must o'erwhelm them. Ne'ertheless,
Still furiously they fought, and many slew:
But, likewise of themselves, no few were slain;
And all with toil grew wearied. Steeds fell dead;
Cars were o'erthrown; and many a valiant heart
'Gan sicken with despair. Arbaces still
With stirring call emboldened them to fight;
``Have courage yet, for aid is drawing nigh:''
Yet to himself continually he said,
``Why lingers the Arabian king? if soon
He come not, surely shall we perish all!''

But Abdolonimus, meantime, in strife
As deadly, labored long. For, when the gate,
By none resisted, he had passed; and thought
Still unopposed to hold upon his way,--
Upon a sudden toward him coming, lo!
A warlike multitude, in close array,
Orderly marching on. The myriads these
Who, led by Tartan, had the river crossed,
And armed themselves for fight. Yet, on he must;
For path by which to shun them was there none,
Save by retreat. Beneath the flickering glare
Of torches,--from the windows, and house--tops,
Waved to and fro,--their spears, and brazen helms,
Gleamed brightly; nor, as yet, of the long train
Was seen the end; that, what their strength might be,
Could no man tell. Paused now the Arabian king;
Stood up, looked back, and called to stay advance.
The charioteers behind at once drew rein,
And all stood still. Communing inwardly,
Then thus he questioned; ``What now may this mean?
Said not Rabsaris, `your return is safe:
The city, wheresoever I have been,
Was filled with women only, agëd men,
And children, and with those that bear not arms.'--
Who, then, are these? But, whosoe'er they be,
Retreat, or conflict, waits us. Shall we turn?
Or shall we drive among them, and burst through?
Surely most deadly will the struggle be!
Nay, haply, all may perish! for, indeed,
Great is the multitude that cometh on.
But if, ourselves to save, we now turn back,
Then may Arbaces perish; and, with him,
The heart of all our host! No! let us on!
In God place trust; break through, or nobly die!''

Resolving thus, he raised his arm, and cried;
``What say you? Ye behold the enemy:
Shall we turn back, by flight to save ourselves,--
Godlike Arbaces leaving to his fate?
Or shall we drive among them,--force the way--
Or bravely fall; an honorable death,
To a base life preferring? Perish he
That would the vile alternate rather choose!
Upon them, then; and let the tyrant fall!''

He ceased; and the loud cry of onset rose.
Then every charioteer his horses smote;
Home drawn was every bow; and every lance,
On high was lifted. Foremost went the car
Of the swart king himself. Swift as the wind
His coursers. Standing as he flew, his voice,
Like a shrill trumpet, raised he, and cried out,
``Get from the way, or die!'' Before that rush,
The Assyrians feared to stand: to right, and left,
Hastily fled they back: but, as he passed,
Spears, darts, and arrows, shot. Behind him close,
Came every chariot, flying rapidly.
But men, and steeds were slain; cars overthrown;
And a dire struggle rose. Then, turning back,
The Arabian king, with all who had gone through,
Again amid the Assyrians fiercely drave;
Beneath their horse--feet trampling them: and still
Upon his warriors called he, and their hearts
With courage filled, that through the gory press,
Though slowly, and with toil, and sweat, and blood,
They forced, at last, their way. The steeds with foam
Were covered, and the axles were dyed red.

Meantime, Arbaces, with his valiant few,
Held on the desperate contest; hoping still
That Abdolonimus swift aid would bring;
And that the tyrant, even yet, might fall.
Against the car--girt chariot of the king,
Arrow, and dart, and spear, strongly he drove,
Till all were spent; but, in the rock and roll
Of that rough sea of conflict, on the mark
Struck none: and him the monarch shunned; for still
He felt his arm was feeble: 'mid his horse,
And chariots, therefore, he secure remained,
And urged them to the contest. But, when now
No arrow, dart, or spear, Arbaces found
Remaining to him,--worse than vain he deemed,
The struggle to prolong: to Geber then,
With heavy heart, thus spake; ``Turn round the steeds:
Too surely Abdolonimus hath fallen;
And, if we 'bide, we also shall be slain.''

Then on his warriors he called out aloud,
Bidding them follow. They, at his command,
As best they might, 'gan from the press emerge:
But, while the horses Geber yet wheeled round,
A brazen javelin on his helmet struck,
With force terrific, that at once he dropped
Headforemost to the ground. When that was seen,
The Assyrians a great din of triumph raised,
And on the Mede called out deridingly;
For now the masterless horses, in great fright,
Ran backward, and the reins were on the earth.

With fury terrible then Arbaces burned:
Leaping from out the car, he lifted, first,
And in it placed, the senseless charioteer:
His shield, and ponderous battle--axe, took forth;
And, with a shout appalling as the roar
Of a roused lion, on the enemy sprang.

They, terrified, before him shrank aside,
Or fell beneath him. Horsemen from his path
Fled hastily; and charioteers their steeds
Lashed, to escape the sweep of his dread axe.
On, on, still toward the king right on he forced,--
Hewing his dreadful way. But, as he went,
They who before him fled, behind him came;
Horsemen, and chariots, with an iron wall
Girding him in,--that fate inevitable
Seemed settling o'er him. In that moment rose
A cry of onset, ``Abdolonimus!''

The Assyrians heard, and saw,--and in their souls
Felt withering terror; for, they doubted not
The army of the conquering Medes was nigh;
The eternal city lost! The welcome voice
Arbaces heard; and, with a burst of joy,
Shouted in answer,--toward the tyrant still
Fighting his desperate way. Then terror fell
On the yet feeble king: and, when to fly,
His captains urged him,--with a trembling hand,
He gave the signal; and the car flew on.

Short distance had he fled, ere toward him came
Horsemen in full career. He stayed his course,
Ill news expecting. Sharply they drew rein;
And Zadok, leaping from his steed, advanced,
And cried unto him. ``Let my lord the king
Go instantly upon the plain. More fierce
Than fire the foe doth wax. Assyria's hosts
Tremble and fly before him. Oh, great lord!
Hasten then instantly, and strengthen them;
Else must the city fall; for, with the throng
Of fliers, all the northern gates are choked.''

Sore trouble then upon the monarch came,
And in his heart he said; ``On every side
They compass me about! This very night,
Perchance, the sceptre of Assyria's kings
Shall be reft from me; the great city fall!
Then let me also perish! On the plain,
And in the sacred city, death invites.
If from the gates I go,--by some vile hand,
Even like a peasant--churl, may I be slain
Ingloriously; no chance of sweet revenge,
To savour the death--draught: but, by the hand
Of yon dread homicide in fight to fall,
Not ignominious quite,--for king he is,
Though rebel; and, in valour, like a god,
To rule the battle: and, should fate decree,
In the same hour, his end; and by this lance,--
The bitterness of death would sweet become,
And I could die rejoicing. 'Gainst him, then,
Will I go back; and slay him, or be slain.''

Resolving thus, to Dara he cried out;
``Turn round the chariot. Not upon the plain
Will I go forth, ingloriously to fall;
But the great rebel meet;--by him to die,
Or him, perchance, to slay.'' Unwillingly,
Dara the car wheeled round; and the king rose,
With hard grasp on his spear--burning to strike.

But, where the Medes had stood, was now clear room;
Nor, by the torch light, and the altar fires,
Saw he one car, remaining of them all.
Great was his wonder: but, when Zadok still
Conjured him; and his captains also spake,
Exhorting; boldly then again he cried;
``Once more, then, on! Arbaces now hath fled!
Surely the strength we dreaded, was not nigh,
Or he had still pursued. After him now,
Horsemen, and chariots! Drive him from the walls!
Or capture him--or slay! But, for myself,
I will go forth; and with my people stand;
Or with them fall!--Ten horse, two cars, alone,
With me come on:--all else, back in pursuit!''

As ordered, was it done. Dara wheeled round;
And toward the field, with such scant train, the king
Hurried impetuously. But not to flight
Had turned Arbaces. He, when first the king
Hasting to shun him, he had seen,--cried out
Exultingly; and to his chariot ran,
Eager to mount, and follow. On the seat,
Ruling his steeds, he Jeroboam found,
The Hyrcanian; for a grievous sickness yet
Hung on prince Geber,--though to sense returned,
And in the chariot sitting. Like to one
Drunken with wine, his head hung heavily;
His arms drooped strengthless, and his eyes were closed.

Upspringing then, to Jeroboam cried
The joyful Mede, ``Haste,--lash the horses on;
The tyrant yet shall fall.'' But, while he spake,
Came Azareel, crying aloud, ``Stay! stay!
Arbaces, I implore thee go not on
In mad pursuit of what thou ne'er canst reach,--
Thy safety risking, and the lives of all!
Our steeds are wearied; but the king's, like stags
Fresh from their lair. And, should'st thou overtake,
What hope of good? Our weapons all are spent;
Our strength sore wasted: succour can be none;
But foes may gather numberless. Pursuit
Is death: in wise retreat is life, and hope
Of a great victory yet. Bethink thee well,--
Here lingering longer, what our chance to escape;
What hope of 'vantage! All the Northern gates
Must now be closed against us: and our foes,
Like a roused hornet's nest, erelong will swarm,
And sting us to the death.'' ``Enough, enough!''
The generous Mede replied: ``Thou teachest me
My folly; and I thank thee. Let him go!
Not less the city shall before us fall;
His throne shall be cast down!'' A moment still,
Even like a lion whom his prey hath 'scaped,
Toward the yet flying king his eyes he turned;
Then stood, and cried, ``Now every man alight;
And from the earth snatch arrow, dart, and spear,--
For thick they lie around--lest, all unarmed,
We meet opposal: toward the gate of Bel
Then on,--but slowly; that our panting steeds
May gather breath; and lest the insolent foe
Should boast we fled before him.'' At the word,
All ran, and gathered weapons: then arose;
And on together moved, firmly, and slow.
Arbaces led them; while the gazing throng
In silence saw them pass; and lifted not
An arm against them. But, when all were gone,
Loudly the people cried, deriding them;
And after them their idle weapons cast;
And of their valour boasted. Meantime on,
Calmly awhile, the Median warriors moved;
Nor opposition found: but when, at length,
Behind them far the clamor of the throng
Had ceased; and of pursuit no sign appeared;
Then to their horses they flung up the reins,
Shaking the scourge, and with a cheerful voice
Encouraging. To the rebounding wheels,
The streets resounded, and the hoofs' thick clang.