In pomp and grandeur which might vie
With realms above the starry sky,
Came there to work fierce scenes of woe!
And loud it swell'd and hall and bower,
And turret high and skiey tower
Shook, for it was the call to war,
Wild, fierce, and rolling from afar!
The maiden's blushing cheek was pale.
And hush'd her lover's whisper'd tale;
The hand which strung the breathing lyre,
Seiz'd falchions, bright as blazing fire;
And thousands from that blithesome hall,
Rush'd madly forth to slay or fall!
Loud was the trumpet's shrilly yell,
And loud the warrior's deafening shell,
And madden'd war-steed's whirl-wind tread,
Which crush'd the dying and the dead!
As when within the starless gloom,
Of Himalaya's snowy womb,
Ten thousand torrents madly roll,
To burst from out its dark control;
They roar, as if each furious wave,
Writhed wild with life some Fury gave!"
The tale of the troubadour recited to the guards was heard by the captive princess to rescue whom the singer, in reality the King of Delhi in disguise, had thus made known his mission and identity. They managed to escape together in the night following the recital. The second Canto opens with the Moslem siege of Delhi.
High in his tent of costliest shawl,
Which tow'rs midst thousands, glittering all,
Like fair pavilions Fancy's eyes
View limn'd on sun-set eastern skies,
The Moslem-chief holds glad divan,
Nor fasts and lists to alcoran,
