Zuleika, mute and motionless,

Stood like that Statue of Distress,

When, her last hope for ever gone,

The Mother hardened into stone;

All in the maid that eye could see

Was but a younger Niobé.

But ere her lip, or even her eye,

Essayed to speak, or look reply, 980

Beneath the garden's wicket porch

Far flashed on high a blazing torch!

Another—and another—and another—[183]

"Oh! fly—no more—yet now my more than brother!"

Far, wide, through every thicket spread

The fearful lights are gleaming red;

Nor these alone—for each right hand

Is ready with a sheathless brand.

They part—pursue—return, and wheel

With searching flambeau, shining steel; 990

And last of all, his sabre waving,

Stern Giaffir in his fury raving:

And now almost they touch the cave—

Oh! must that grot be Selim's grave?