text:  On the mail the sabre dwelling Gallop steed! for far thy dwelling-- See! they fall--but distant still Is the forest of the hill!" "Russian shot our hearts is rending Falls the Mullah on his knee To the Lord of Light bows he To the Prophet he is bending: Like a shaft his prayer ascending Upward flies to Allah's throne-- Il-Allah! O save thine own!" "Ah despair!--What crash like thunder! Lo! a sign from heaven above! Lo! the forest seems to move Crashes murmurs bursts asunder! Lower nearer wonder! wonder! Safe once more the Moslem bold In their forest mountain-hold!" "So it was in old times " said Djemboulat with a smile "when our old men trusted more to prayer and God oftener listened to them; but now my friends there is a better hope--your valour! _Our_ omens are in the scabbards of our shooshkas (sabres ) and we must show that we are not ashamed of them