Iii monologue — Ismael; an oriental tale. With other poems

When Ismael learn’d, from whom he drew his breath, Shich-Eidar’s virtues, and Shich-Eidar’s death, 90 The rightful heir to Persia’s realms; his soul With glory heav’d, disdaining Love’s control. He left the maid, for Honour’s trumpet blew, And straight to arms, and to revenge he flew. Wrong’d by oppression, or impell’d by fame, Around his standard, thousands daily came: His sire’s old followers, joying to behold, From their dead sage, arise a son so bold; And many a chief, who lov’d in him to trace A branch of Iran’s ancient royal race, 100 And that an alien from his blood should fill The throne of Usum Cassan, brook’d it ill. Many, who view’d his talents and admir’d; And more, by love of battle-spoils inspir’d; Widen’d each day the miscellaneous band, That swore to fight at Ismael’s command.-- He fought, and conquer’d! to applauding fame Victorious war had giv’n his youthful name. Alvante reign’d upon the Persian throne, In Tauris sway’d, what Ismael deem’d his own; 110 Thither he march’d, resolv’d, at one great blow, His hopes, his fortunes, and his life to throw.