Khartoum

Set in the fierce red desert for a sword,
  Drawn and deep-driven implacably! The tide
  Of scorching sand that chafes thy landward side
Storming thy palms; and past thy front outpoured
The Nile's vast dread and wonder! Late there roared
  (While far off paused the long war, long defied)
  Mad tumult thro' thy streets; and Gordon died,
Slaughtered amid the yelling rebel horde!

Yet, spite of shame and wrathful tears, Khartoum,
  We owe thee certain thanks, for thou hast shown
    How still the one a thousand crowds outweighs,--
Still one man's mood sways millions,--one man's doom
  Smites nations;--and our burning spirits own
    Not sordid these nor unheroic days!