And, while the panting tigress hies Smit by the scorchings of the noontide beam. She hurls the torch! she fans the fire! She clasps her lord to part no more, + And, wrapt in clouds, in tempests tost, Weave the airy web of Fate; While the lone shepherd, near the shipless main, ‡ Sees o'er her hills advance the long-drawn funeral train. II. 1. Thou spak'st, and lo! a new creation glowed. Was clad in horrors not its own, And at its base the trembling nations bowed. Grasped the globe with iron hand. * The funeral rite of the Hindoos. The Fates of the Northern Mythology. See MALLET'S An‡ An allusion to the Second Sight. tiquities. Circled with seats of bliss, the Lord of Light * Springs from its parent earth, and shakes the spheres; The indignant pyramid sublimely towers, And braves the efforts of a host of years. Sweet Music breathes her soul into the wind; And bright-eyed Painting stamps the image of the mind. II. 2. Round their rude ark old Egypt's sorcerers rise! And bids the God of Thunders hail; † Scaly monarch of the Nile! + But ah! what myriads claim the bended knee? § Charmed with perennial sweets, and smiling at decay? * En. II. 172, &c. The bull, Apis. The Crocodile. § According to an ancient proverb, it was less difficult in Egypt to find a god than a man. The Hieroglyphics. The Catacombs. II. 3. On yon hoar summit, mildly bright * High o'er the world, the white-robed Magi gaze Silver notes ascend the skies: The Sibyl speaks, the dream is o'er, And moulds the features of her soul, Breathing a prophetic flame. The cavern frowns; its hundred mouths unclose! And, in the thunder's voice, the fate of empire flows! * "The Persians," says Herodotus, "have no temples, altars, or statues. They sacrifice on the tops of the highest mountains." I. 131. + En. VI. 46, &c. Y III. 1. Mona, thy Druid-rites awake the dead! Rites thy brown oaks would never dare Rites that have chained old Ocean on his bed. Pointless falls the hero's lance. Thy magic bids the imperial eagle fly, And blasts the laureate wreath of victory. Hark, the bard's soul inspires the vocal string! At every pause dread Silence hovers o'er: While murky Night sails round on raven-wing, Deepening the tempest's howl, the torrent's roar; Chased by the Morn from Snowdon's awful brow, Where late she sate and scowled on the black wave below. III. 2. Lo, steel-clad War his gorgeous standard rears! And mow thro' infancy and age; Then kiss the sacred dust and melt in tears. Veiling from the eye of day, Penance dreams her life away; In cloistered solitude she sits and sighs, * See Tacitus, 1. xiv. c. 29. + This remarkable event happened at the siege and sack of Jerusalem in the last year of the eleventh century. Matth. Paris, IV. 2. Hear, with what heart-felt beat, the midnight bell Beyond this nether sphere, on Rapture's wing of fire. III. 3. Lord of each pang the nerves can feel, Flushed with youth, her looks impart Each fine feeling as it flows; Her voice the echo of a heart Pure as the mountain-snows: Celestial transports round her play, She smiles! and where is now the cloud |