ldren, your father's stern duty--
No more shall he bring ye the Muscovite booty!"

SECOND SEMICHORUS.

"Weep not, O ye maidens; your sisters in splendour,
The Houris, they bend from the sky,
They fix on the brave their sun-glance deep and tender,
And to Paradise bear him on high!
In your feast-cup, my brethren, forget not our story;
The death of the Free is the noblest of glory!"

FIRST SEMICHORUS.

"Roar, winter torrent, and sullenly dash!
But where is the brave one--the swift lightning-flash?
Soft star of my soul, my mother,
Sleep, the fire let ashes smother;
Gaze no more, shine eyes are weary,
Sit not by the threshold stone;
Gaze not through the night-fog dreary,
Eat thine evening meal alone,
Seek him not, O mother, weeping,
By the cliff and by the ford:
On a bed of dust he's sleeping--
Broken is both heart and sword!"

SECOND SEMICHORUS.

"Mother, weep not! with thy love burning:
This heart of mine beats full and free,
And to lion-blood is turning
That soft milks I drew from thee;
And our liberty from danger
Thy brave son has guarded well;
Battling with the Christian stranger,
Call'd by Azrael, he fell;
From my blood fresh odours breathing
Fadeless flowers shall drink the dew;
To my children fame bequeathing,
Brethren, and revenge to you!"

CHORUS.

"Pray, my brethren, ere we part;
Clutch the steel with hate and wrath!
Break it in the Russian's heart--
O'er corpses lies the brave man's path!
Fame to us, death to you,
Alla-ha, Alla-hu!"

Struck by a certain involuntary awe, the Chasseurs and Kazaks
listened in silence to the stern sounds of this song; but at last a
loud _hurrah_ [25] resounded from both sides. The Teherkess, with a
shout, fired their guns for the last time, and breaking them against
the stones, they threw themselves, dagger in hand, upon the Russians.
The Abreks, in order that their line might not be broken, bound
themselves to each other with their girdles, and hurled themselves
into the melee. Quarter was neither asked nor given: all fell before
the bayonets of the Russians. "Forward! follow me, Ammalat Bek,"
cried Djemboulat, with fury, rushing into the combat which was to be
his last--"Forward! for us death is liberty." But Anmalat heard not
his call; a blow from a musket on the back of the head stretched him
on the earth, already sown with corpses, and covere