Page:Caravan in the Desert.pdf/7

—Rise! bid your Isle of Palms adieu,
Again your lonely march pursue,
While winds of night are freshly blowing,
And heav'ns with softer beauty glowing.

—Tis silence all—the solemn scene
Wears, at each step, a ruder mien;
For giant-rocks, at distance pil'd,
Cast their deep shadows o'er the wild.
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 watch-fires 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,
Oh 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 genii, 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.