Page:Caravan in the Desert.pdf/3

'Tis noon—and fearfully profound
Silence is on the desert round.
Supreme she reigns, above, beneath,
With all the attributes of Death!
No bird the blazing heav'n may dare,
No insect 'bide the scorching air;
The ostrich, though of sun-born race,
Seeks a more shelter'd dwelling-place;
The lion slumbers in his lair,
The serpent shuns the noontide glare;
But slowly winds 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, oh 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 wave!
Urge your tir'd camels on, and take
Your rest beside yon glist'ning 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 side:
Speed on! pure draughts and genial air,
And verdant shade await you there;