52
NOUR JUFFEIR KHAN.
A TALE OF THE JUMNA.
How darkly 'gainst the crimson sky
Those massy heaps of ruins frown,
Whose domes, in towering majesty,
The crags with mournful splendour crown.
No more upon the lofty walls
In troops the well-armed vassals stand;
No more within its stately halls
A gallant chieftain holds command.
But the fierce vulture builds her nest,
The hungry panther makes his lair,
And noisome beasts the courts infest,
And poisonous snakes are brooding there.
While o'er the silent strand below
The lowly river[1] glides—so hushed,
So undisturbed its currents flow,
Where late a proud flotilla rushed,
That strangers deem the desert rude
In its impervious solitude,
