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

And Ismael dropp’d the blade, and wav’d his hand, 600 From the pursuit to stay his conq’ring band. ‘Hold, hold, my friends; no longer drive the blow ‘Against a vanquish’d, and unworthy foe: ‘Hold, and remember mercy’s soft control ‘Should e’er be dearest to a hero’s soul. ‘Cease the pursuit: and haste to search the field, ‘Haste to the wounded, every help to yield; ‘Nor to _our_ bands _alone_, but also those ‘Whom fate or chance have number’d with our foes: ‘And then, to mighty Alla let us give 610 ‘The debt of gratitude, that still we live-- ‘That conquest’s ours: while coming night shall steep ‘The toils of slaughter in the sweets of sleep. ‘Although to-morrow’s dawning sun must see ‘Us march again to war and victory; ‘Must mark us go to wield the conq’ring brand ‘Against Moratcham’s far-inferior band, ‘To place me on my glorious grandsire’s throne, ‘And then--O Selyma, I’m all thine own!’