Classic Poem

XXXI.

 The night-breeze from the mountains had begun;
 And as it wing'd among the clouds of even,
 Where, like a routed king, the Sultan Sun
 Still struggled on the fiery verge of heaven;
 Their volumes in ten thousand shapes were driven;
 Spreading away in boundless palace halls,
 Whose lights from gold and emerald lamps were given;
 Or airy citadels and battled walls;
Or sunk in valleys sweet, with silver waterfalls.

XXXII.

 But, for those sights of heaven the Angel's heart
 Was all unsettled: and a bitter sigh
 Burst from his burning lip, and with a start
 He cast upon the earth his conscious eye.
 The whole horizon from that summit high
 Spread out in vision, from the pallid line
 Where old Palmyra's pomps in ruin lie,
 Gilding the Arab sands, to where supine
The western lustre tinged thy spires, lost Palestine!

XXXIII.

 Yet, loveliest of the vision was the vale
 That sloped beneath his own imperial bowers;
 Sheeted with colours like an Indian mail,
 A tapestry sweet of all sun-painted flowers,
 Balsam, and clove, and jasmines scented showers,
 And the red glory of the Persian rose,
 Spreading in league on league around the towers,
 Where, loved of Heaven, and hated of its foes,
The Queen of Cities shines, in calm and proud repose.

XXXIV.

 And still he gazed—and saw not that the eve
 Was fading into night. A sudden thought
 Struck to his dreaming heart, that made it heave;
 Was he not there in Paradise?—that spot,
 Was it not lovely as the lofty vault
 That rose above him? In his native skies,
 Could he be happy till his soul forgot,
 Oh! how forget, the being whom his eyes
Loved as their light of light? He heard a tempest rise—

XXXV.

 Was it a dream? the vale at once was bare,
 And o'er it hung a broad and sulphurous cloud;
 The soil grew red and rifted with its glare;
 Down to their roots the mountain cedars bow'd;
 Along the ground a rapid vapour flow'd,
 Yellow and pale, thick seam'd with streaks of flame.
 Before it sprang the vulture from the shroud;
 The lion bounded from it scared and tame;
Behind it, dark'ning heaven, the mighty whirlwind came.

XXXVI.

 Like a long tulip bed, across the plain
 A caravan approach'd the evening well,
 A long, deep mass of turban, plume, and vane;
 And lovely came its distant, solemn swell
 Of song, and pilgrim-horn, and camel-bell.
 The sandy ocean rose before their eye,
 In thunder on their bending host it fell
 Ten thousand lips sent up one fearful cry;
The sound was still'd at once, beneath its wave they lie.

XXXVII.

 But, two escaped, that up the mountain sprung,
 And those the dead men's treasure downwards drew;
 One, with slow steps; but beautiful and young
 Was she, who round his neck her white arms threw.
 Away the tomb of sand like vapour flew.
 There, naked lay the costly caravan,
 A league of piles of silk and gems that threw
 A rainbow light, and mid them stiff and wan,
Stretch'd by his camel's flank, their transient master, man.

XXXVIII.

 The statelier wand'rer from the height was won,
 And cap and sash soon gleam'd with plunder'd gold.
 But, now the Desert rose, in pillars dun,
 Glowing with fire like iron in the mould,
 That wings with fiery speed, recoil'd, sprang, roll'd;
 Before them waned the moon's ascending phase,
 The clouds above them shrank the redd'ning fold:
 On rush'd the giant columns blaze on blaze,
The sacrilegious died, wrapp'd in the burning haze.

XXXIX.

 The Angel sat enthroned within a dome
 Of alabaster raised on pillars slight,
 Curtain'd with tissues of no earthly loom;
 For spirits wove the web of blossoms bright,
 Woof of all flowers that drink the morning light,
 And with their beauty figured all the stone
 In characters of mystery and might,
 A more than mortal guard around the throne,
That in their tender shade one glorious diamond shone.

XL.

 And every bud round pedestal and plinth,
 As fell the evening, turn'd a living gem.
 Lighted its purple lamp the hyacinth,
 The dahlia pour'd its thousand-colour'd gleam,
 A ruby torch the wond'ring eye might deem
 Hung on the brow of some night-watching tower,
 Where upwards climb'd the broad magnolia's stem.
 An urn of lovely lustre every flower,
Burning before the king of that illumined bower.