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Crouding to strike the flimsy sail,
The crew who guide our fairy skiff,
Will leave on deck no quiet spot
Where we may sit, and pensively,
While musing o'er life's changeful lot,
Complete the Omrah's history.
Spurned in disgrace from Scindia's court
To shelter his dishonoured head,
Indignant to his kinsman's fort
An outcast younger brother fled;
Bringing a fierce marauding crew
Of Afghaun and Mahratta hordes,
A reckless band, who only knew
The crimson laws of their own swords.
Eager for bloodshed and for broil,
And feeding their luxurious tastes,
Insatiate, with the fearful spoil
Of cities stormed, and burning wastes,
