73
Mark, mark yon green turban
That heaves through the fight,
Like a tempest-tost bark
'Mid the thunders of night;
See parting before it,
On right and on left,
How the dark billows tumble,—
Each saucy crest cleft!
Ay, horseman and footman
Reel back in dismay,
When the sword of stern Ouglo
Is lifted to slay.
Allah, il allah!
Alla, il allah!
Tchassan Ouglou is on!
O'er the Infidel breast
Hath his fiery barb gone:—
The bullets rain on him,
They fall thick as hail;
The lances crash round him
Like reeds in the gale,—
But onward, still onward,
For God and his law,
