Awed, by the threatening whip, the furious hounds Around her bay; or, at their master’s foot, Each happy favourite courts his kind applause, With humble adulation cowering low. All now is joy. With cheeks full-blown they wind Her solemn dirge, while the loud-opening pack The concert swell, and hills and dales return The sadly-pleasing sounds. Thus the poor hare, A puny, dastard animal! but versed In subtle wiles, diverts the youthful train. But if thy proud aspiring soul disdains So mean a prey, delighted with the pomp, Magnificence, and grandeur of the chase, Hear what the Muse from faithful records sings. Why, on the banks of Jumnah, Indian stream, Line within line, rise the pavilions proud, Their silken streamers waving in the wind? Why neighs the warrior horse? from tent to tent, Why press in crowds the buzzing multitude? Why shines the polish’d helm, and pointed lance, This way and that, far-beaming o’er the plain? Nor Visapour, nor Golconda rebel; Nor the great Sophy, with his numerous host, Lays waste the provinces; nor glory fires To rob and to destroy, beneath the name [Sidenote: BOOK II THE CHASE v. 313-337.] And specious guise of war. A nobler cause Calls Aurengzebe to arms. No cities sacked, No mothers tears, no helpless orphans cries, No violated leagues, with sharp remorse, Shall sting the conscious victor: but mankind Shall hail him good and just: for ’tis on beasts He draws his vengeful sword; on beasts of prey, Full fed with human gore. See, see, he comes! Imperial Delhi, opening wide her gates, Pours out her thronging legions, bright in arms, And all the pomp of war. Before them sound Clarions and trumpets, breathing martial airs, And bold defiance. High, upon his throne, Borne on the back of his proud elephant, Sits the great chief of Timur’s glorious race: Sublime he sits, amid the radiant blaze Of gems and gold. Omrahs about him crowd, And rein the Arabian steed, and watch his nod: And potent Rajahs, who themselves preside O’er realms of wide extent; but here, submiss, Their homage pay; alternate kings and slaves. Next these, with prying eunuchs girt around, The fair sultanas of his court; a troop Of chosen beauties, but, with care, conceal’d From each intrusive eye; one look is death. [Sidenote: BOOK II THE CHASE v. 338-362.]