And proudly smiling as the death-pang came:
Oh! had they thus expired, a warrior’s tear
Had flow’d, almost in triumph, o’er their bier.
For thus alone the brave should weep for those
Who brightly pass in glory to repose.
—Not such their fate: a tyrant’s stern command
Doom’d them to fall by some ignoble hand,
As, with the flower of all their high-born race,
Summon’d Abdallah’s royal feast to grace,
Fearless in heart, no dream of danger nigh,