History & Politics
The Prophecy of Ishmael
From The Poetical Works of Reginald Heber (Lansdowne Poets)
When Bonaparte led his weary train
Through the parched sands of Egypt's thirsty plain,
Where erst around the Delta's fertile isle
Flowed the seven daughters of the silver Nile;
Now choked with sand, their ancient glory fled,
But four surviving mourn their sisters dead;
Where even Fancy's eye can hardly trace
The fallen splendour of the Coptic race;
Where prostrate lies 'mid tangled brakes of thorn
The harp that once spontaneous hailed the morn;
Where Sesack's obelisk and Isis' bust
In mingled ruin moulder into dust;
Where still the Pyramids, from far descried,
Remain the monuments of regal pride;
While through these scenes the Gallic squadron sped,
And marched o'er heaps of valiant Arabs dead,
While yet with recent victory elate,
Onward they moved in military state,
From the rough rocks that border Barca's land
A voice, unearthly, hailed the affrighted band.
High on a hill that veiled its murky brow
In clouds, and frowned upon the plain below,
Still fondly watchful o'er his children's good,
The shade of Mecca's mighty founder stood,
Confessed he stood, known by his dauntless air,
His brow, his fillet, and his length of hair:
And, "Stay, ye fools," he cried, "ye madmen, stay
Nor farther prosecute your venturous way.
Of Syria's sons full many a numerous host
Their lives amid my burning sands have lost:
There, led by Persia's tyrant, millions fell,
Nor one survived the dismal tale to tell;
There first was checked the Macedonian might,
Repulsed and baffled in th' unequal fight;
My sons a barrier set to Roman pride,
And many a legion by their arrows died;
And now shall Gaul with conqu'ring armies come?
Gaul, — but a province of defeated Rome!
Shall she expel, though far renowned in fight,
The sons of Ishmael from their ancient right?
No, no! from me, ye robbers, learn your fate,
Lament and die! return is now too late.
Far, far from Gaul, full many a soldier brave
Shall, 'mid these rocks, unpitied find a grave.
Still man by man shall perish all your power,
And what the sword shall spare the plague devour.
Codex Note
Written at the age of fifteen as a school exercise.
Cite this poem
MLA
Heber, Reginald. “The Prophecy of Ishmael.” Poetry Codex, poetrycodex.com/poem/heber/58/.
Chicago
Heber, Reginald. “The Prophecy of Ishmael.” Poetry Codex. https://poetrycodex.com/poem/heber/58/.
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