XV.
At morn, the sun first lit that mountain height;
There latest gleamed when dusky eve had come.
Thither went forth the crowd; some, in affright,
With loud lament for life implored, and some
In sorrow mute—but none durst wait their doom,
Durst wait, alone, the midnight shrieks tohear
Re-echoed back to each deserted home.
Ah! tho’ no hand could help, nor voice could cheer,
The fainting spirit craved some kindly presence near.
XVI.
Yet had their cries of grief tumultuous been,
But pipes and blaring gongs in concert blent
Still urged them on, as, marching o’er the plain
And up the mount, their toiling steps they bent;
To gain ere night should cloud the steep ascent,
A terrace award, the rugged rocks among;
There, while the day a glimmering radiance lent,
Midway they paused; what time the priestly throng
To the departing sun charted their farewell song.
XVII.
Whither, O God of light,
Whither from shrines and temples, in thy flight
Bearest thou the brilliant day;
Swiftly on with flaming wheels for ever far away?
Hasting in vengeful wrath
To waste thy glories where no hearts adore;
Thro’ lurid shades borne on thy path
Beyond the earth, and sea, and sky, unworshipped evermore!
Lo! here the clouds all night
Keep watch to announce, with gorgeous hues, the birth
Of joyous morn, whose golden light
Awakes the waves to greet thy beams with dance and boisterous mirth.
