Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Switzerland and Austria: Vol. XVI. 1876–79.
The Battle of Vienna
By Samuel Greene Wheeler Benjamin (1837–1914)T
Had crumbled haughty Vienna’s walls,
And slow adown the leaguered town
Stalked Famine, Death, and wan Despair.
The garrison fell one by one,
And nightly was the sulphurous air
Illumined by the exploding bomb
Descending like the bolt of doom.
Since Fate betrayed the proud Pashâ,
Laughed at his clamorous legionaries,
“Lead on! can yonder walls defy
The valor of the Janizaries!
Command the storm!” his soldiers cry:
Reclined in state, the Grand Vizier
Dozed on, nor recked of danger near.
Where now the Tartar’s ribald boast?
What panic moves each delhi’s soul?
Hark! Sobiesky’s lancers come!
Hark! hear ye not his cannon roll?
Each eye foresees the general doom,
And Mustaphâ, a stricken man,
Marshals in haste his bristling van.
Of the low sun’s departing rays;
Then moonlight silvered Danube’s flood,
But war was on the twilight breeze;
Cymbal and drum-beat stirred the blood
With shrill and martial melodies,
While charger’s neigh and trumpet’s bray
Urged loudly to the mortal fray.
The champion of the cross, King John.
“Charge!” thundered Poland’s hero king:
Triumphant shouts the welkin rend;
The squadrons’ clashing sabres ring
As they to victory descend.
“They fly, they fly! avenge, ye Poles,
The memory of your fathers’ souls!”
The crescent moon, the maid of even,
Behind a pall of awful gloom
Now hides her soft, resplendent face,
“Is ’t not the fatal sign of doom
To all the sons of Osman’s race,
Yon dire and terrible eclipse?”
Mutters the Turk with whitening lips.
“The crescent wanes, and all is lost
When Allah helps the Christian’s need!”
Fear palsied now the Spohr’s right hand;
He turned his back, he spurred his steed,
And, flying, dropped his jewelled brand,
For like gaunt wolves in northern lands,
The Poles pursued the routed bands.
With waves that blushed with human gore;
The ravens held a fest that night
On flesh of steed and flesh of man;
And when the battle turned to flight,
What spoil the victors gathered then,—
Damascus blades of price untold,
And broidered tents, and cups of gold.
Brave Staremberg had won renown;
The sweet cathedral bells were rung
As for a May-day festival,
And Sobiesky’s fame was sung
Throughout the lordly capital.
But terror fell on all who dwell
Where Bosphor’s shores in beauty swell.