To pain devote, and grief, and gloom,
No taper cheer’d the darksome room;
Yet to the wounded chieftain’s sight
Strange shapes were there, and sheets of light
And oft he spoke, in jargon vain,
Of ruthless deed and tyrant reign,
For maddening fever fired his brain.
O hark! the warder’s rousing call—
“Rise, warriors, rise, and man the wall!”
Starts up the chief, but rack’d with pain,