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 prey;
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,
TV 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 I
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 Prsetor 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 PluTarch.]
3twas noon, and Africs 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;
Whelm'd by the ruins of their own abodes,
Had sunk the forms of heroes and of gods;
While near, dread offspring of the burning day!
Coil'd 'midst forsaken halls, the serpent lay.
There came an exile, long by fate pursued,
To shelter in that awful solitude.
Well did that wanderer's high yet faded mien,
Suit the sad grandeur of the desert-scene;
Shadow'd, not veil'd, by locks of wintry snow,
Pride sat, still mighty, on his furrow'd brow;
Time had not quench'd the terrors of his eye,
Nor tamed his glance of fierce ascendency;
While the deep meaning of his features told,
Ages of thought had o'er his spirit rolPd,
Nor dimm'd the fire that might not be controll'd;
And still did power invest his stately form,
Shatter'd, but yet unconquer'd, by the storm.
But slow his step—and where, not yet o'erthrown,
Still tower'd a pillar 'midst the waste alone,
Faint with long toil, his weary limbs he laid,
To slumber in its solitary shade.
He slept—and darkly, on his brief repose,
Th' indignant genius of the scene arose.
Clouds robed his dim unearthly form, and spread
Mysterious gloom around his crownless head,
Crownless, but regal still. With stern disdain,
The kingly shadow seem'd to lift his chain,
Gazed on the palm, his ancient sceptre torn,
And his eye kindled with immortal scorn!
"And sleep'st thou, Roman?5' ery'd his voice austere;
"Shall son of Latium find a refuge here P
Awake! arise! to speed the hour of Fate,
When Rome shall fall, as Carthage desolate!
Go ! with her children's flower, the free, the brave,
People the silent chambers of the grave;
So shall the course of ages yet to be,
More swiftly waft the day, avenging me!
"Yes, from the awful gulf of years to come, I hear a voice that prophesies her doom; I see the trophies of her pride decay, And her long line of triumphs pass away, Lost in the depths of time—while sinks the star That led her march of heroes from afar! Lo ! from the frozen forests of the north, The sons of slaughter pour in myriads forth! Who shall awake the mighty ?—will thy woe, City of thrones! disturb the realms below? Call on the dead to hear thee! let thy cries Summon their shadowy legions to arise, Array the ghosts of conquerors on thy walls! —Barbarians revel in their ancient halls, And their lost children bend the subject knee, 'Midst the proud tombs and trophies of the free. Bird of the sun! dread eagle! borne on high, A creature of the empyreal—Thou, whose eye Was lightning to the earth—whose pinion waved In haughty triumph o'er a world enslaved; Sink from thy Heavens ! for glory's noon is o'er, And rushing storms shall bear thee on no more!
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