| |
| THE STERN besieger’s fiery balls | |
| Had crumbled haughty Vienna’s walls, | |
| And slow adown the leaguered town | |
| Stalked Famine, Death, and wan Despair. | |
| The garrison fell one by one, | 5 |
| And nightly was the sulphurous air | |
| Illumined by the exploding bomb | |
| Descending like the bolt of doom. | |
| |
| ’Neath his pavilion Mustaphâ, | |
| Since Fate betrayed the proud Pashâ, | 10 |
| Laughed at his clamorous legionaries, | |
| “Lead on! can yonder walls defy | |
| The valor of the Janizaries! | |
| Command the storm!” his soldiers cry: | |
| Reclined in state, the Grand Vizier | 15 |
| Dozed on, nor recked of danger near. | |
| |
| What sudden dread appalls the host? | |
| Where now the Tartar’s ribald boast? | |
| What panic moves each delhi’s soul? | |
| Hark! Sobiesky’s lancers come! | 20 |
| Hark! hear ye not his cannon roll? | |
| Each eye foresees the general doom, | |
| And Mustaphâ, a stricken man, | |
| Marshals in haste his bristling van. | |
| |
| Steel helms and bucklers caught the blaze | 25 |
| Of the low sun’s departing rays; | |
| Then moonlight silvered Danube’s flood, | |
| But war was on the twilight breeze; | |
| Cymbal and drum-beat stirred the blood | |
| With shrill and martial melodies, | 30 |
| While charger’s neigh and trumpet’s bray | |
| Urged loudly to the mortal fray. | |
| |
| A lion in his wrath came on | |
| The champion of the cross, King John. | |
| “Charge!” thundered Poland’s hero king: | 35 |
| Triumphant shouts the welkin rend; | |
| The squadrons’ clashing sabres ring | |
| As they to victory descend. | |
| “They fly, they fly! avenge, ye Poles, | |
| The memory of your fathers’ souls!” | 40 |
| |
| But lo! a prodigy in heaven! | |
| The crescent moon, the maid of even, | |
| Behind a pall of awful gloom | |
| Now hides her soft, resplendent face, | |
| “Is ’t not the fatal sign of doom | 45 |
| To all the sons of Osman’s race, | |
| Yon dire and terrible eclipse?” | |
| Mutters the Turk with whitening lips. | |
| |
| Deep anguish smote the invader’s host: | |
| “The crescent wanes, and all is lost | 50 |
| When Allah helps the Christian’s need!” | |
| Fear palsied now the Spohr’s right hand; | |
| He turned his back, he spurred his steed, | |
| And, flying, dropped his jewelled brand, | |
| For like gaunt wolves in northern lands, | 55 |
| The Poles pursued the routed bands. | |
| |
| The peaceful Danube kissed the shore | |
| With waves that blushed with human gore; | |
| The ravens held a fest that night | |
| On flesh of steed and flesh of man; | 60 |
| And when the battle turned to flight, | |
| What spoil the victors gathered then,— | |
| Damascus blades of price untold, | |
| And broidered tents, and cups of gold. | |
| |
| Now joy was in proud Vienna’s town; | 65 |
| Brave Staremberg had won renown; | |
| The sweet cathedral bells were rung | |
| As for a May-day festival, | |
| And Sobiesky’s fame was sung | |
| Throughout the lordly capital. | 70 |
| But terror fell on all who dwell | |
Where Bosphor’s shores in beauty swell.
THE END. | |
| |
