Page:Felicia Hemans in The New Monthly Magazine Volume 14 1825.pdf/30

 And the temples fell, though the spirit pass'd, That stay'd not for victory's voice at last, When the day was won for the martyr-dead, For the broken heart, and the bright blood shed.

Through the gates of the conquer'd the Tartar steed Bore in the avenger with foaming speed, Free swept the flame through the idol-fanes, And the streams flow'd red, as from warrior veins, And the sword of the Moslem, let loose to slay, Like the panther leapt on its flying prey, Till a City of Ruin spread round the shade, Where the Boy and his Mother at rest were laid.*

Palace and tower on that plain were left, Like fallen trees by the lightning cleft, The wild vine mantled the stately square, The Rajah's throne was the serpent's lair, And the jungle grass o'er the altar sprung— —This was the work of one deep heart wrung!F. H.