II |
|
II
On dun Cithæron`s ridge appears
The gleam of twice ten thousand spears,
And downward to the Isthmian plain,
From shore to shore of either main,
The tent is pitch`d, the crescent shines
Along the Moslem`s leaguering lines;
And the dusk Spahi`s bands advance
Beneath each bearded pacha`s glance;
And far and wide as eye can reach
The turban`d cohorts throng the beach;
And there the Arab`s camel kneels,
And there his steed the Tartar wheels;
The Turcoman hath left his herd,
The sabre round his loins to gird;
And there the volleying thunders pour,
Till waves grow smoother to the roar.
The trench is dug, the cannon`s breath
Wings the far hissing globe of death;
Fast whirl the fragments from the wall,
Which crumbles with the ponderous ball;
And from that wall the foe replies,
O`er dusty plain and smoky skies,
With fires that answer fast and well
The summons of the Infidel.
|
