5
And bright once more her vales in beauty stand.
But lo! what scene unlooked-for meets the eye?
There, far and wide, the tents of Israel lie,
In snowy whiteness o'er the distant plain,
Like heaving billows on the restless main,
And scattered wide, in countless numbers, seem
To those who gaze—the phantoms of a dream!
"How came they there? Oh! can they, can they he,
The far-famed race who passed o'er Egypt's sea?
And led by fire at last have reached our land,
The blest of Heaven—the dread, resistless band?
They must not linger here! They dare not stay!
Arise, ye stranger tribes, and haste away!"
But lo! what scene unlooked-for meets the eye?
There, far and wide, the tents of Israel lie,
In snowy whiteness o'er the distant plain,
Like heaving billows on the restless main,
And scattered wide, in countless numbers, seem
To those who gaze—the phantoms of a dream!
"How came they there? Oh! can they, can they he,
The far-famed race who passed o'er Egypt's sea?
And led by fire at last have reached our land,
The blest of Heaven—the dread, resistless band?
They must not linger here! They dare not stay!
Arise, ye stranger tribes, and haste away!"
But see! on yonder mountain's towering brow,
What fiery beacons beam in brightness now!
Their form and sacred number seem to tell
Of some dark heathen rite, or mystic spell.
And who are they who stand in silence there,
And watch the flames that flickering rise in air?
One bends on Israel's tents his anxious gaze,
Then turns to him who feeds the brightening blaze,
As if to trace in that dark, sunken eye,
Some passing gleam to light Futurity;
And seems to watch, with mingled hope and fear,
For those dark words he inly longed to hear.
'Tis he! 'tis Moab's king!—and with him stands,
Deep musing o'er the wide-spread stranger hands,
That gifted man—that far-famed haughty seer,
Whom king and people all alike revere.
That day he came to meet his lord's behest,
And curse the tribes whom God himself had blest!
What fiery beacons beam in brightness now!
Their form and sacred number seem to tell
Of some dark heathen rite, or mystic spell.
And who are they who stand in silence there,
And watch the flames that flickering rise in air?
One bends on Israel's tents his anxious gaze,
Then turns to him who feeds the brightening blaze,
As if to trace in that dark, sunken eye,
Some passing gleam to light Futurity;
And seems to watch, with mingled hope and fear,
For those dark words he inly longed to hear.
'Tis he! 'tis Moab's king!—and with him stands,
Deep musing o'er the wide-spread stranger hands,
That gifted man—that far-famed haughty seer,
Whom king and people all alike revere.
That day he came to meet his lord's behest,
And curse the tribes whom God himself had blest!
