Boots not to trace—had made a friend of Michael, Who grew in power and riches day by day. But purer times were coming; there were heard Deserved, though little looked for then from those, Themselves not pure who raised them, murmurings; Surmise grew into knowledge; Michael’s friends Were few; men stained as he pronounced his doom. Still there was hope; he never knew despair: The Rajah he had served should shelter him, And he would lead his Armies; he foresaw More wealth, more power, more means of growing great. III. He passed from low Bengal’s unbroken green, That, like a harlot, smiles but to betray, And with a troop of chosen cavaliers, Came to the Holy Land of Hindostan, Wearily wandering, whether the strong sun Parched the wide champaign, and the furnace blasts Came howling, hot and dry, whirling the sand In dense and overwhelming canopy, So that, for hours, the dark was palpable; Or whether, under the moist star of Eve, The village slumbered peaceful, great old trees Intensely still, and immemorial pools Silently shining, save where, now and then, The Alligator glided from the bank, Warned by the chill of evening, or the girls With tinkling bangles, and the ringing laugh Of youth, and happiness, and unrestraint, In coming down for water, scared away The timid monster of two elements. Once, as they halted in an ancient grove, Set by some hospitable hand, of old, And consecrate to travellers, now too near The fortress of a wild Mahratta Prince, The weary band were throwing by their arms, And, gathered in their separate brotherhoods, Prepared for evening’s rest; some made in earth Their simple ovens, some set up the tents, Some slew the bleating kid, some kneeling, turned Their faces to the West, their Prophet’s shrine, And with much prostrate bending, prayed to Him Who made the morning and the even-tide. Suddenly came upon them, unawares, The soldiers of the castle, bound their arms, And drove them, harshly, o’er the plain, on foot, Weary and terror-stricken, through the gate, Into the presence hall, where sate their chief. Sternly he questioned Michael of his wealth, And with what hope he, from a foreign land, Was wandering, thus attended; who, in scorn, Answered him nothing; till “Away with him! Bind him there on the house-top, that the moon Shed curses on his face, pale as her own, And our strong Sun burn up his alien blood; And straitly search, and bring me all his gold.” They laid him on a low, unfurnished couch, And left him, bound, alone; he could but look