THE CID'S RISING.
TWAS the deep mid-watch of the silent night,
And Leon in slumber lay, When a sound went forth in rushing might,
Like an army on its way!
In the stillness of the hour,
And the towers as with a sweeping blast,
Rocked to the stormy clang! But the march of the viewless train Went on to royal fane,
Where a priest his night-hymn
There was knocking that shook the marble floor,
And a voice at the gate, which
said"That the Cid Ruy Diez, the Campeador,
Was there in his arms arrayed; And that with him from the tomb, Had the Count Gonzalez come
With a host, uprisen to aid!
And they came from the buried king that lay
At rest in that ancient fane; For he must be armed on the battleday
With them to deliver Spain ! -Then the march went sounding on And the Moors by noontide sun Were dust on Tolosa's plain.
THE CARAVAN IN THE DESERTS.
CALL it not loneliness, to dwell
In woodland shade or hermit dell,
When the dreams of sleep have Or the deep forest to explore,
Or wander Alpine regions o'er;
For Nature there all joyous reigns,
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;
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
But he, whose weary step hath traced 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,
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,
Alone, amidst eternal space!
'Tis noon-and fearfully profound,
Silence is on the desert round;
Alone she reigns, above, beneath,
With all the attributes of death!
No bird the blazing heaven's 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,
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.
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,
Across the dread expanse is thrown;
Mark! where your feverish lips to lave,
Wide spreads the fresh transparent
Urge your tired camels on, and take Your rest beside yon glistening lake; 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 sideSpeed on, pure draughts and genial air, 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!
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,
A blush upon the atmosphere;
Haste, haste! avert the impending
doom,
Fall prostrate! 'tis the dread Simoom!
Bow down your faces-till the blast
On its red wing of flame hath passed,
Far bearing o'er the sandy wave
The viewless Angel of the Grave.
It came 'tis vanished-but hath left The wanderers e'en of hope bereft ; Pride, courage, strength, its power The ardent heart, the vigorous frame,
Faint with despondence, worn with toil, They sink upon the burning soil, Resigned amidst those realms of gloom,
To find their deathbed and their tomb.3
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, Still rear their slender colonnadeA 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 embosomed 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 the acacia shade: Rest, where the shrubs your camels bruise,
Their auromatic breath diffuse; Where softer light the sunbeams pour Through the tall palm and sycamore;
1 The mirage, or vapor assuming the appearance of water. See the description of the Simoom in Bruce's Travels.
3 The extreme languor and despondence produced by the Simoom, even when its effects are not fatal, have been described by many travellers.
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 venomed 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.
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 wondrous 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
The eternal billow heaves and falls.
-With charms like these, of mystic
power,
Watchers! beguile the midnight hour.
-Slowly that hour hath rolled away,
The day hath closed-the moon on And star by star withdraws its ray.
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 glow-
ing.
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.
Darkly they rise-what eye hath viewed
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.
Dark children of the sun! again
Your own rich orient hails his reign.
He comes, but veiled-with sanguine
glare
Tinging the mists that load the air;
Sounds of dismay, and signs of flame,
The approaching hurricane proclaim.
'Tis 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!
On, in terrific grandeur wheeling,
A giant host, the heavens concealing,
They move, like mighty genii forms,
Towering immense 'midst clouds and
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 ef
faced,
Of those who trod the burning waste!
MARIUS AMONGST THE RUINS OF CARTHAGE.
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,
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 CAR-
THAGE.
["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 Prætor 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 inquired 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.]
'Twas noon, and Afric's dazzling sun on high,
With fierce resplendence filled the 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 strewed their precious marble o'er the plains;
Dark weeds and grass the column had o'ergrown,
The lizard basked upon the altar-stone;
Whelmed by the ruins of their own abodes,
Had sunk the forms of heroes and of gods;
While near, dread offspring of the burning day!
Coiled '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;
Shadowed, not veiled, by locks of wintry snow,
Pride sat, still mighty, on his furrowed brow;
Time had not quenched the terrors of his eye,
Nor tamed his glance of fierce ascendancy;
While the deep meaning of his features told
Ages of thought had o'er his spirit rolled,
Nor dimmed the fire that might not be controlled
And still did power invest his stately form,
Shattered, but yet unconquered, by the storm.
But slow his step-and where, not yet o'erthrown,
Still towered 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,
The 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 seemed to lift his chain,
Gazed on the palm, his ancient sceptre torn,
And his eye kindled with immortal scorn!
"And sleepst thou, Roman ?" cried his voice austere; "Shall son of Latium find a refuge here?
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!
Closed is thy regal course-thy crest is torn,
And thy plume vanished from the realms of morn.
The shaft hath reached thee !-rest with chiefs and kings,
Who conquered in the shadow of thy wings;
Sleep! while thy foes exult around their prey,
And share thy glorious heritage of day!
But darker years shall mingle with the past,
And deeper vengeance shall be mine at last.
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