THE SONG BY THE BARADA.
Over the brow of Lebanon,
In a blaze of splendor sank the sun,
Its gold on the valley glowing;
After a day now dark, now fair,
With a wild sirocco sweeping bare
The mountain paths, as we journeyed there,
To stately Baalbec going.
In a blaze of splendor sank the sun,
Its gold on the valley glowing;
After a day now dark, now fair,
With a wild sirocco sweeping bare
The mountain paths, as we journeyed there,
To stately Baalbec going.
All in the dusk our tents gleamed white
Where lone Barada lulled the night,
Cool from the snows of Hermon;
Around us, rose and hawthorn blooms
Hung, sad, above Abila's tombs;
And her ruined temples, through the glooms,
Looked with a voiceless sermon.
Where lone Barada lulled the night,
Cool from the snows of Hermon;
Around us, rose and hawthorn blooms
Hung, sad, above Abila's tombs;
And her ruined temples, through the glooms,
Looked with a voiceless sermon.
The wild wind fell; and, past compare,
Up in the wonderful depths of air
Floated the starry islands;—
Floated so calm, so bright, so near,
From the curtained door I leaned to hear,
Perchance, some song of the blessed, clear,
In the great o'erarching silence.
Up in the wonderful depths of air
Floated the starry islands;—
Floated so calm, so bright, so near,
From the curtained door I leaned to hear,
Perchance, some song of the blessed, clear,
In the great o'erarching silence.
