text:  Already Sultan Mahmood Has risen from his throne When at the Hall's far portal Stands a Stranger all alone -- A man in humble vesture But with a haughty eye; And he calls aloud with the steadfast voice Of one prepared to die-- "Sultan! the Wrong'd and Trampled Lacks time to worship thee Stand forth and answer to my charge Son of Sebactagi! Stand forth!"---- The brief amazement Which shook that hall has fled-- Next moment fifty falchions Flash round the madman's head And fifty slaves are waiting Their sovereign's glance to slay; But dread Mahmood with hand upraised Has waved their swords away