3
They brought their faith from distant lands,
They reared the Moslem badge on high,
And swept away with reeking brands
The reliques of idolatry.
Where'er they spread their prophet's creed
The guilty rites of Brama fled;
No longer shrinking victims bleed,
Nor sleeps the living with the dead.
The frantic shrieks of widowed brides
From burning piles resound no more,
Nor Ganges' desecrated tides
Bear human offerings from its shore.
Their wreaths have faded—lizards bask
Upon the marble pavement, where,
'Twas erst the dark-eyed beauty's task
To crown with flowers her raven hair.
