But onward still!-yon distant spot
Of verdure can deceive you not;
Yon palms, which tremulously seem'd
Reflected as the waters gleam'd,
Along th' horizon's verge display'd,
Still rear their slender colonnade—
A landmark, guiding o'er the plain
The Caravan's exhausted train.
Fair is that little Isle of Bliss
The desert's emerald oasis!
A rainbow on the torrent's wave,
A gem embosom'd in the grave,
A sunbeam on a stormy day

Its beauty's image might convey!

Beauty, in horror's lap that sleeps,
While silence round her vigil keeps.

-Rest, weary pilgrims! calmly laid
To slumber in th' acacia shade:

Rest, where the shrubs your camels bruise,
Their aromatic breath diffuse;

Where softer light the sunbeams pour
Through the tall palm and sycamore;
And the rich date luxuriant spreads
Its pendant clusters o'er your heads.
Nature once more, to seal your eyes,
Murmurs her sweetest lullabies;
Again each heart the music hails
Of rustling leaves and sighing gales,
And oh to Afric's child how dear
The voice of fountains gushing near!
Sweet be
your slumbers! and your dreams
Of waving groves and rippling streams!

Far be the serpent's venom'd coil
From the brief respite won by toil;
Far be the awful shades of those
Who deep beneath the sands repose—
The hosts, to whom the desert's breath
Bore swift and stern the call of death.
Sleep! nor may scorching blast invade
The freshness of the acacia shade,

But gales of heaven your spirits bless,
With life's best balm-Forgetfulness!
Till night from many an urn diffuse
The treasures of her world of dews.

The day hath closed-the moon on high Walks in her cloudless majesty.

A thousand stars to Afric's heaven
Serene magnificence have given;
Pure beacons of the sky, whose flame
Shines forth eternally the same.

Blest be their beams, whose holy light
Shall guide the camel's footsteps right,
And lead, as with a track divine,
The pilgrim to his prophet's shrine!
-Rise! bid your Isle of Palms adieu!
Again your lonely march pursue,
While airs of night are freshly blowing,
And heavens with softer beauty glowing.
-Tis silence all: the solemn scene
Wears, at each step, a ruder mien;
For giant-rocks, at distance piled,
Cast their deep shadows o'er the wild.

prey;

Darkly they rise-what eye hath view'd
The caverns of their solitude?
Away! within those awful cells
The savage lord of Afric dwells!
·Heard ye his voice?-the lion's roar
Swells as when billows break on shore.
Well may the camel shake with fear,
And the steed pant-his foe is near;
Haste! light the torch, bid watchfires throw
Far o'er the waste, a ruddy glow;
Keep vigil-guard the bright array,
Of flames that scare him from his
Within their magic circle press,
O wanderers of the wilderness!
Heap high the pile, and by its blaze,
Tell the wild tales of elder days.
Arabia's wond'rous lore-that dwells
On warrior deeds, and wizard spells;
Enchanted domes, 'mid scenes like these,
Rising to vanish with the breeze;
Gardens, whose fruits are gems, that shed
Their light where mortal may not tread,
And spirits, o'er whose pearly halls
Th' eternal billow heaves and falls.
-With charms like these, of mystic power,
Watchers! beguile the midnight hour.
-Slowly that hour hath roll'd away,
And star by star withdraws its ray.
Dark children of the sun! again
Your own rich orient hails his reign.
He comes, but veil'd-with sanguine glare
Tinging the mists that load the air;

Sounds of dismay, and signs of flame,
Th' approaching hurricane proclaim.
'Tis death's red banner streams on high-
Fly to the rocks for shelter !-fly!
Lo! dark'ning o'er the fiery skies,
The pillars of the desert rise!
On, in terrific grandeur wheeling,
A giant-host, the heavens concealing,
They move, like mighty genii forms,
Towering immense 'midst clouds and storms.
Who shall escape ?-with awful force
The whirlwind bears them on their course;
They join, they rush resistless on,

The landmarks of the plain are gone;
The steps, the forms, from earth effaced,
Of those who trod the burning waste!
All whelm'd, all hush'd!-none left to bear
Sad record how they perish'd there!
No stone their tale of death shall tell-
The desert guards its mysteries well;
And o'er th' unfathom'd sandy deep,
Where low their nameless relics sleep,
Oft shall the future pilgrim tread,
Nor know his steps are on the dead.

MARIUS AMONGST THE RUINS OF

CARTHAGE.

["Marius, during the time of his exile, seeking refuge in Africa, had landed at Carthage, when an officer, sent by the Roman governor of Africa, came and thus addressed him : Marius, I come from the Praetor Sextilius, to tell you that he forbids you to set foot in Africa. If you obey not, he will support the Senate's decree, and treat you as a public enemy." Marius, upon hearing this, was struck dumb with grief and indignation. He uttered not a word for some time, but regarded the officer with a menacing aspect. At length the officer enquired what answer he should carry to the governor. "Go and tell him," said the unfortunate man, with a sigh, "that thou hast seen the exiled Marius sitting on the ruins of Carthage."-See PLU

TARCH.

'Twas noon, and Afric's dazzling sun on high,
With fierce resplendence fill'd th' unclouded sky;
No zephyr waved the palm's majestic head,
And smooth alike the seas and deserts spread;
While desolate, beneath a blaze of light,
Silent and lonely as at dead of night,

The wreck of Carthage lay. Her prostrate fanes
Had strew'd their precious marble o'er the plains;
Dark weeds and grass the column had o'ergrown,
The lizard bask'd upon the altar-stone;