The strength of her step was the heart that burn’d;
And the Bramin groves in the starlight smiled,
As the mother pass’d with her slaughter’d child.
III.
Hark! a wild sound of the desert’s horn
Through the woods round the Indian city borne,
A peal of the cymbal and tambour afar—
War! ’tis the gathering of Moslem war!
The Bramin look’d from the leaguer’d towers—
He saw the wild archer amidst his bowers;