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182

WOLFE OF THE KNOLL.

Now he fronts the bold Abdallah ;
Fiery chief, how low he lies !
Furious shouts of Wallah ! Wallah !
From his maddened followers rise.
Scathing flames of vengeance deaden
Memory to all other thought ;
Even he who guards the maiden
Hath his latest charge forgot.
Fierce he spurs, and fast he speedeth
Toward the crimson battle-ring,
Nor the shuddering Fatmeh heedeth,
If she fall, or if she cling.
Yet she clung, she saw them pressing
On her wounded champion sore,
Saw assailants still increasing,
Saw his visage stained with gore !
Yet she clung ! convulsive holding
Fast her warder's silken sash,
And within its ample folding
Sudden saw a dagger flash.