Classic Poem

I.

 There's glory thy mountains, proud Bengal,
 When on their temples bursts the morning sun!
 There's glory on thy marble-tower'd wall,
 Proud Ispahan, beneath his burning noon!
 There's glory—when his golden course is done,
 Proud Istamboul, upon thy waters blue!
 But fall'n Damascus, thine was beauty's throne,
 In morn, and noon, and evening's purple dew,
Of all from Ocean's marge to mighty Himmalu.

II.

 East of the city stands a lofty mount,
 Its brow with lightning delved and rent in sunder;
 And through the fragments rolls a little fount,
 Whose channel bears the blast of fire and thunder;
 And there has many a pilgrim come to wonder;
 For there are flowers unnumber'd blossoming,
 With but the bare and calcined marble under;
 Yet in all Asia no such colours spring,
No perfumes rich as in that mountain's rocky ring.

III.

 And some who pray'd the night out on the hill,
 Have said they heard—unless it was their dream,
 Or the mere murmur of the babbling rill,—
 Just as the morn-star shot its first slant beam,
 A sound of music, such as they might deem
 The song of spirits—that would sometimes sail
 Close to their ear, a deep, delicious stream,
 Then sweep away, and die with a low wail:
Then come again, and thus, till Lucifer was pale.

IV.

 And some, but bolder still, had dared to turn
 That soil of mystery for hidden gold;
 But saw strange, stifling blazes round them burn,
 And died:—by few that venturous tale was told.
 And wealth was found; yet, as the pilgrims hold,
 Though it was glorious on the mountain's brow,
 Brought to the plain it crumbled into mould,
 The diamonds melted in the hand like snow;
So none molest that spot for gems or ingots now.

V.

 But one, and ever after, round the hill
 He stray'd:—they said a meteor scorch'd his sight;
 Blind, mad, a warning of Heaven's fearful will.
 'Twas on the sacred evening of “The Flight,”
 His spade turn'd up a shaft of marble white,
 Fragment of some kiosk, the chapiter
 A crystal circle, but at morn's first light
 Rich forms began within it to appear,
Sceptred and wing'd, and then, it sank in water clear.

VI.

 Yet once upon that guarded mount, no foot
 But of the Moslem true might press a flower,
 And of them none, but with some solemn suit
 Beyond man's help, might venture near the bower:
 For, in its shade, in beauty and in power,
 For judgement sat the Angel OF THE W ORLD :
 Sent by the prophet, till the destined hour
 That saw in dust Arabia's idols hurl'd,
Then to the skies again his wing should be unfurl'd.

VII.

 It came at last. It came with trumpets' sounding,
 It came with thunders of the atabal,
 And warrior shouts, and Arab chargers' bounding,
 The S ACRED S TANDARD crown'd Medina's wall!
 From palace roof, and minaret's golden ball,
 Ten thousand emerald banners floated free,
 Beneath, like sun-beams, through the gateway tall,
 The Emirs led their steel-mail'd chivalry,
And the whole city rang with sports and soldier glee.

VIII.

 This was the eve of eyes, the end of war,
 Beginning of Dominion, first of Time!
 When, swifter than the shooting of a star,
 Mohammed saw the “Vision's” pomps sublime;
 Swept o'er the rainbow'd sea—the fiery clime,
 Heard from the throne its will in thunders roll'd;
 Then glancing on our world of woe and crime,
 Saw from Arabia's sands his banner's fold
Wave o'er the brighten'd globe its sacred, conquering gold.

IX.

 The sun was slowly sinking to the west,
 Pavilion'd with a thousand glorious dyes;
 The turtle-doves were winging to the nest
 Along the mountain's soft declivities;
 The fresher breath of flowers began to rise,
 Like incense, to that sweet departing sun;
 Faint as the hum of bees the city's cries:
 A moment, and the lingering disk was gone;
Then were the Angel's task on earth's dim orbit done.

X.

 Oft had he gazed upon that lovely vale,
 But never gazed with gladness such as now;
 When on Damascus' roofs and turrets pale
 He saw the solemn sunlight's fainter glow,
 With joy he heard the Imauns' voices flow
 Like breath of silver trumpets on the air;
 The vintagers' sweet song, the camels' low,
 As home they stalk'd from pasture, pair by pair,
Flinging their shadows tall in the steep sunset glare.