| |
| CALL it not loneliness, to dwell | |
| In woodland shade or hermit dell, | |
| Or the deep forest to explore, | |
| Or wander Alpine regions o’er; | |
| For Nature there all joyous reigns, | 5 |
| And fills with life her wild domains: | |
| A bird’s light wing may break the air, | |
| A wave, a leaf, may murmur there; | |
| A bee the mountain flowers may seek, | |
| A chamois bound from peak to peak; | 10 |
| An eagle, rushing to the sky, | |
| Wake the deep echoes with his cry; | |
| And still some sound, thy heart to cheer, | |
| Some voice, though not of man, is near. | |
| But he whose weary step hath traced | 15 |
| Mysterious Afric’s awful waste, | |
| Whose eye Arabia’s wilds hath viewed, | |
| Can tell thee what is solitude! | |
| It is, to traverse lifeless plains, | |
| Where everlasting stillness reigns, | 20 |
| And billowy sands and dazzling sky | |
| Seem boundless as infinity! | |
| It is, to sink, with speechless dread, | |
| In scenes unmeet for mortal tread, | |
| Severed from earthly being’s trace, | 25 |
| Alone, amidst eternal space! | |
| ’T is noon—and fearfully profound, | |
| Silence is on the desert round; | |
| Alone she reigns, above, beneath, | |
| With all the attributes of death! | 30 |
| No bird the blazing heaven may dare, | |
| No insect bide the scorching air; | |
| The ostrich, though of sun-born race, | |
| Seeks a more sheltered dwelling-place; | |
| The lion slumbers in his lair, | 35 |
| The serpent shuns the noontide glare: | |
| But slowly wind the patient train | |
| Of camels o’er the blasted plain, | |
| Where they and man may brave alone | |
| The terrors of the burning zone. | 40 |
| |
| Faint not, O pilgrims! though on high, | |
| As a volcano, flame the sky; | |
| Shrink not, though as a furnace glow | |
| The dark-red seas of sand below; | |
| Though not a shadow, save your own, | 45 |
| Across the dread expanse is thrown; | |
| Mark! where, your feverish lips to lave, | |
| Wide spreads the fresh transparent wave! | |
| Urge your tired camels on, and take | |
| Your rest beside yon glistening lake; | 50 |
| Thence, haply, cooler gales may spring, | |
| And fan your brows with lighter wing. | |
| Lo! nearer now, its glassy tide | |
| Reflects the date-tree on its side— | |
| Speed on! pure draughts and genial air | 55 |
| And verdant shade await you there. | |
| Oh, glimpse of heaven! to him unknown, | |
| That hath not trod the burning zone! | |
| Forward they press, they gaze dismayed, | |
| The waters of the desert fade! | 60 |
| Melting to vapors that elude | |
| The eye, the lip, they vainly wooed. | |
| What meteor comes?—a purple haze | |
| Hath half obscured the noontide rays: | |
| Onward it moves in swift career, | 65 |
| A blush upon the atmosphere; | |
| Haste, haste! avert the impending doom, | |
| Fall prostrate! ’t is the dread Simoom! | |
| Bow down your faces, till the blast | |
| On its red wing of flame hath passed, | 70 |
| Far bearing o’er the sandy wave | |
| The viewless Angel of the grave. | |
| |
| It came, ’t is vanished, but hath left | |
| The wanderers e’en of hope bereft; | |
| The ardent heart, the vigorous frame, | 75 |
| Pride, courage, strength, its power could tame; | |
| Faint with despondence, worn with toil, | |
| They sink upon the burning soil, | |
| Resigned, amidst those realms of gloom, | |
| To find their death-bed and their tomb. | 80 |
| |
| But onward still!—yon distant spot | |
| Of verdure can deceive you not; | |
| Yon palms, which tremulously seemed | |
| Reflected as the waters gleamed, | |
| Along the horizon’s verge displayed, | 85 |
| 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! | 90 |
| A rainbow on the torrent’s wave, | |
| A gem embosomed in the grave, | |
| A sunbeam on a stormy day, | |
| Its beauty’s image might convey! | |
| “Beauty, in Horror’s lap that sleeps,” | 95 |
| While Silence round her vigil keeps. | |
| Rest, weary pilgrims! calmly laid | |
| To slumber in the acacia shade: | |
| Rest, where the shrubs your camels bruise, | |
| Their aromatic breath diffuse; | 100 |
| Where softer light the sunbeams pour | |
| Through the tall palm and sycamore; | |
| And the rich date luxuriant spreads | |
| Its pendent clusters o’er your heads. | |
| Nature once more, to seal your eyes, | 105 |
| 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! | 110 |
| Sweet be your slumbers! and your dreams | |
| Of waving groves and rippling streams! | |
| Far be the serpent’s venomed coil | |
| From the brief respite won by toil: | |
| Far be the awful shades of those | 115 |
| 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, | 120 |
| 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 | 125 |
| 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. | 130 |
| 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! | 135 |
| Again your lonely march pursue, | |
| While airs of night are freshly blowing, | |
| And heavens with softer beauty glowing. | |
| ’T is silence all; the solemn scene | |
| Wears, at each step, a ruder mien; | 140 |
| For giant-rocks, at distance piled, | |
| Cast their deep shadows o’er the wild. | |
| Darkly they rise,—what eye hath viewed | |
| The caverns of their solitude? | |
| Away! within those awful cells | 145 |
| 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; | 150 |
| 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, | 155 |
| O wanderers of the wilderness! | |
| Heap high the pile, and by its blaze, | |
| Tell the wild tales of elder days. | |
| Arabia’s wondrous lore, that dwells | |
| On warrior deeds, and wizard spells; | 160 |
| 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 | 165 |
| The eternal billow heaves and falls. | |
| With charms like these, of mystic power, | |
| Watchers! beguile the midnight hour. | |
| Slowly that hour hath rolled away, | |
| And star by star withdraws its ray. | 170 |
| Dark children of the sun! again | |
| Your own rich orient hails his reign. | |
| He comes, but veiled—with sanguine glare | |
| Tingeing the mists that load the air; | |
| Sounds of dismay, and signs of flame, | 175 |
| The approaching hurricane proclaim | |
| ’T is death’s red banner streams on high— | |
| Fly to the rocks for shelter!—fly! | |
| Lo; darkening o’er the fiery skies, | |
| The pillars of the desert rise! | 180 |
| 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 | 185 |
| 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! | 190 |
| All whelmed, all hushed!—none left to bear | |
| Sad record how they perished there! | |
| No stone their tale of death shall tell, | |
| The desert guards its mysteries well; | |
| And o’er the unfathomed sandy deep, | 195 |
| Where low their nameless relics sleep, | |
| Oft shall the future pilgrim tread, | |
| Nor know his steps are on the dead. | |
| |
