text:  What though earth heaves beneath him With ingot gem and urn Though in his halls a thousand thrones Of vanquish'd monarchs burn; Though at his footstool ever Four hundred princes stay; Though in his jasper vestibules Four hundred bloodhounds bay-- Each prince's sabre hafted With the carbuncle's gem Each bloodhound's collar fashion'd From a rajah's diadem?-- Though none may live beholding The anger of his brow Yet his justice ever shineth To the lofty and the low; O'er his many-nation'd empire Shines his justice far and wide-- All praise to the First Sultan Mahmood the Ghaznavide! V