Classic Poem

MAHOMET.
Caraza, speak--have ye remark'd the bassa?

CARAZA.
Close, as we might unseen, we watch'd his steps:
His hair disorder'd, and his gait unequal,
Betray'd the wild emotions of his mind.
Sudden he stops, and inward turns his eyes,
Absorb'd in thought; then, starting from his trance,
Constrains a sullen smile, and shoots away.
With him Abdalla we beheld--

MUSTAPHA.
Abdalla!

MAHOMET.
He wears, of late, resentment on his brow,
Deny'd the government of Servia's province.

CARAZA.
We mark'd him storming in excess of fury,
And heard, within the thicket that conceal'd us,
An undistinguish'd sound of threat'ning rage.

MUSTAPHA.
How guilt, once harbour'd in the conscious breast,
Intimidates the brave, degrades the great;
See Cali, dread of kings, and pride of armies,
By treason levell'd with the dregs of men!
Ere guilty fear depress'd the hoary chief,
An angry murmur, a rebellious frown,
Had stretch'd the fiery boaster in the grave.

MAHOMET.
Shall monarchs fear to draw the sword of justice,
Aw'd by the crowd, and by their slaves restrain'd?
Seize him this night, and, through the private passage,
Convey him to the prison's inmost depths,
Reserv'd to all the pangs of tedious death.
[Exeunt Mahomet and Mustapha.