74
Through the dark strife of Death
Bursts the gallant Pacha.
Allah, il allah!
In the wake of his might,
In the path of the wind,
Pour the sons of the Faithful,
Careering behind;
And bending to battle
O'er each high saddle-bow,
With the sword of Azrael,
They sweep down the foe.
Allah, il allah!
'Tis Ouglou that cries,—
In the breath of his nostril
The Infidel dies!
Allah, il allah!
