Than of the Father’s; but lest thou shouldst faint,
The winged hounds, Famine and Pestilence,
Shall wait on thee, the hundred-forked snake 145
Insatiate Superstition still shall... 
The earth behind thy steps, and War shall hover
Above, and Fraud shall gape below, and Change
Shall flit before thee on her dragon wings,
Convulsing and consuming, and I add 150
Three vials of the tears which daemons weep
When virtuous spirits through the gate of Death
Pass triumphing over the thorns of life,
Sceptres and crowns, mitres and swords and snares,
Trampling in scorn, like Him and Socrates. 155
The first is Anarchy; when Power and Pleasure,
Glory and science and security,
On Freedom hang like fruit on the green tree,
Then pour it forth, and men shall gather ashes. 
The second Tyranny—­

CHRIST: 
Obdurate spirit! 160
Thou seest but the Past in the To-come. 
Pride is thy error and thy punishment. 
Boast not thine empire, dream not that thy worlds
Are more than furnace-sparks or rainbow-drops
Before the Power that wields and kindles them. 165
True greatness asks not space, true excellence
Lives in the Spirit of all things that live,
Which lends it to the worlds thou callest thine.

...

MAHOMET: 
...Haste thou and fill the waning crescent
With beams as keen as those which pierced the shadow 170
Of Christian night rolled back upon the West,
When the orient moon of Islam rode in triumph
From Tmolus to the Acroceraunian snow.

...

Wake, thou Word
Of God, and from the throne of Destiny 175
Even to the utmost limit of thy way
May Triumph

...

Be thou a curse on them whose creed
Divides and multiplies the most high God.

HELLAS.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE: 

MAHMUD. 
HASSAN. 
DAOOD. 
AHASUERUS, A JEW. 
CHORUS OF GREEK CAPTIVE WOMEN.
[THE PHANTOM OF MAHOMET II. (OMITTED, EDITION 1822.)]
MESSENGERS, SLAVES, AND ATTENDANTS.

SCENE: 
CONSTANTINOPLE.

TIME:  SUNSET.

SCENE: 
A TERRACE ON THE SERAGLIO. 
MAHMUD SLEEPING,
AN INDIAN SLAVE SITTING BESIDE HIS COUCH.

CHORUS OF GREEK CAPTIVE WOMEN: 
We strew these opiate flowers
On thy restless pillow,—­
They were stripped from Orient bowers,
By the Indian billow. 
Be thy sleep 5
Calm and deep,
Like theirs who fell—­not ours who weep!

INDIAN: 
Away, unlovely dreams! 
Away, false shapes of sleep
Be his, as Heaven seems, 10
Clear, and bright, and deep! 
Soft as love, and calm as death,
Sweet as a summer night without a breath.