| |
| HOW quickly fled our sultan’s state! | |
| How soon his pomp has passed away! | |
| How swiftly sped Seringa’s fate | |
| From wealth and power to dire decay! | |
| How proud his conquering banners flew! | 5 |
| How stately marched his dread array! | |
| Soon as the King of earth withdrew | |
| His favoring smile, they passed away. | |
| |
| His peopled kingdoms stretching wide | |
| A hundred subject leagues could fill, | 10 |
| While dreadful frowned in martial pride | |
| A hundred Droogs from hill to hill. | |
| His hosts of war, a countless throng, | |
| His Franks, impatient for the fray, | |
| His horse, that proudly pranced along,— | 15 |
| All in a moment passed away. | |
| |
| His mountain-forts of living stone | |
| Were hewn from every massy rock; | |
| Whence bright the sparkling rockets shone, | |
| And loud the volleyed thunder spoke. | 20 |
| His silver lances gleamed on high; | |
| His spangled standards fluttered gay: | |
| Lo! in the twinkling of an eye | |
| Their martial pride has passed away. | |
| |
| Girt by the Cavery’s holy stream, | 25 |
| By circling walls in triple row, | |
| While deep between, with sullen gleam, | |
| The dreary moat outspread below, | |
| High o’er the portals, jarring hoarse, | |
| Stern ramparts rose in dread array; | 30 |
| Towers that seemed proof to mortal force, | |
| All in a moment passed away. | |
| |
| His elephants of hideous cry, | |
| His steeds that pawed the battling-ground, | |
| His golden stores that wont to lie, | 35 |
| In years of peace, in cells profound: | |
| Himself a chief of prowess high, | |
| Unmatched in battle’s stormy day;— | |
| Lo, in the twinkling of an eye, | |
| Our dauntless hero passed away. * * * * * | 40 |
| A hundred granaries huge enclosed | |
| Full eighteen sorts of foodful grain: | |
| Dark in his arsenals reposed | |
| Battle’s terrific flame-mouthed train. | |
| How paltry proud Duryoden’s state | 45 |
| To his, in fortune’s prosperous day, | |
| In wealth, in martial pomp elate: | |
| All in a moment passed away. | |
| |
| Before our prince of deathless fame | |
| The silver trumpet’s thrilling sound, | 50 |
| Applauding heralds loud acclaim, | |
| And deep-toned nobuts shook the ground. | |
| His was the wealth by Rajahs won, | |
| Beneath their high imperial sway, | |
| While eight successive ages run: | 55 |
| But all, alas! has passed away. | |
| |
| How swift the ruthless spoiler came, | |
| How quick he ravaged, none can say, | |
| Save He whose dreadful eye of flame | |
| Shall blast him on the Judgment-day. | 60 |
| The noontide came with baleful light, | |
| The sultan’s corpse in silence lay: | |
| His kingdom, like a dream of night, | |
| In silence vanished quite away. * * * * * | |
| Where was God Allah’s far-famed power, | 65 |
| Thy boasted inspiration’s might; | |
| Where, in that unpropitious hour, | |
| Was fled thy Koran’s sacred light? | |
| Vain was each prayer and high behest, | |
| When Runga doomed thy fatal day: | 70 |
| How small a bullet pierced thy breast! | |
| How soon thy kingdom past away! | |
| |
| Amid his queens of royal race, | |
| Of princely form the monarch trod; | |
| Amid his sons of martial grace, | 75 |
| The warrior moved an earthly god. | |
| Girt with bold chiefs of prowess high, | |
| How proud was his imperial sway! | |
| Soon as the god of lotus-eye | |
| Withdrew his smile, it past away. | 80 |
| |
| Coorg, Cuddapah, and Concan-land, | |
| Their princely lords of old renown | |
| To thee outspread the unweaponed hand, | |
| And crouched at thine imperial frown. | |
| Proud mountain-chiefs,—the lofty crest | 85 |
| They bent beneath thy sceptred sway,— | |
| How dire the blow that pierced thy breast! | |
| How soon thy kingdom passed away! | |
| |
| The sovereign of proud Delhi’s throne, | |
| That held the prostrate world in awe, | 90 |
| Sri-Munt, whose rule compels alone | |
| Mahratta tribes devoid of law; | |
| The Rajahs of the peopled world | |
| Resigned their realms in deep dismay, | |
| Where’er thy victor-flag unfurled: | 95 |
| How soon thy kingdom passed away! * * * * * | |
| How vain is every mortal boast, | |
| How empty earthly pomp and power! | |
| Proud bulwarks crumble down to dust, | |
| If o’er them adverse fortune lower. | 100 |
| In Vishnu’s lotus-foot alone | |
| Confide! his power shall ne’er decay, | |
| When tumbles every earthly throne, | |
| And mortal glory fades away. | |
| |
