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| THAT day he rose Sultan of half the East. | |
| The guards awoke, each from his feverish dream | |
| Of conquest or of fear: the trumpet plained | |
| Through the far citadel, and thousands trooped | |
| Obedient to its mournful melody, | 5 |
| Soldier and chief and slave: and he the while | |
| Traversed his hall of power, and with a look | |
| Deeply observant glanced on all: then, waving | |
| His dusky arm, struck through the listening crowd | |
| Silence and dumb respect: from his fierce tongue | 10 |
| Streamed words of vengeance; fame he promised, | |
| And wealth and honors to the brave, but woe | |
| To those who failed him. There he stood, a king | |
| Half circled by his Asian chivalry, | |
| In figure as some Indian god, or like | 15 |
| Satan when he beneath his burning dome | |
| Marshalled the fiery cherubim, and called | |
| All hell to arms. The sun blazed into day; | |
| Then busy sights were seen, and sounds of war | |
| Came thickening: first the steed’s shrill neigh; the drum | 20 |
| Rolling at intervals; the bugle note, | |
| Mixed with the hoarse command; then (nearing on) | |
| The soldier’s silent, firm, and regular tread; | |
| The trampling horse; the clash of swords; the wheel | |
| That, creaking, bore the dread artillery. | 25 |
| How fierce the dark king bore him on that day! | |
| How bravely! Like a common slave he fought, | |
| Heedless of life, and cheered the soldier on; | |
| Deep in his breast the bullets sank, but he | |
| Kept on, and this looked nobly,—like a king. | 30 |
| That day he earned a title with his life, | |
| And made his foes respect him. Towards night | |
| He grew faint, very faint with many wounds: | |
| His soldiers bore him in: they wept: he was | |
| Their old commander, and, whate’er his life, | 35 |
| Had led them on to conquest. Then (it was | |
| His wish) they placed him on his throne. He sate | |
| Like some dark form of marble, with an eye | |
| Staring, and strained with pain, and motionless, | |
| And glassy as with death: his lips compressed | 40 |
| Spoke inward agony, yet seemed he resolute | |
| To die a king. An enemy came, and strove | |
| To tear away his regal diadem: | |
| Then turned his eye: he rose,—one angry blush | |
| Tinted his cheek, and fled. He grasped his sword, | 45 |
| And struck his last, faint, useless blow, and then | |
| Stood all defenceless. Ah! a flash, and quick | |
| Fled the dark ball of death: right through the brain | |
| It went (a mortal messenger), and all | |
| That then remained of that proud Asian king, | 50 |
| Who startled India far and wide, and shook | |
| The deserts with his thunder, was—a name. | |
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