The stars of Moslem chivalry,
At princely Shoojah's high command,
As though it were some god's decree,
Attend Nuleeni's injured sire
With all the vaunt of martial fire.
There's gold upon each glittering hilt,
And crimson is each velvet sheath;
But brighter shall each blade be gilt,
And redder flow the stream of death.
Undinted is each starry shield,
With silver every lance is bright:
But dazzling lance on battle-field
Shall shivered be ere morrow's light;
Even like the tall reed by the river,
Broke by the tempest's breath for ever :—
And many a broad shield shall be bent,
And many a broidered vest be rent,
And many a turban fair be dyed
In fearful slaughter's purple tide.