But no--she sees him not--'tis gone,
The vision that before her shone
Thro' all the maze of blood and storm,
Is fled--'twas but a phantom form--
One of those passing, rainbow dreams,
Half light, half shade, which Fancy's beams
Paint on the fleeting mists that roll
In trance or slumber round the soul.
But now the bark with livelier bound
Scales the blue wave--the crew's in motion.
The oars are out and with light sound
Break the bright mirror of the ocean,
Scattering its brilliant fragments round.
And now she sees--with horror sees,
Their course is toward that mountain-hold,--
Those towers that make her life-blood freeze,
Where MECCA'S godless enemies
Lie like beleaguered scorpions rolled
In their last deadly, venomous fold!
Amid the illumined land and flood
Sunless that mighty mountain stood;
Save where above its awful head,
There shone a flaming cloud, blood-red,
As 'twere the flag of destiny
Hung out to mark where death would be!
Had her bewildered mind the power
Of thought in this terrific hour,
She well might marvel where or how
Man's foot could scale that mountain's brow,
Since ne'er had Arab heard or known
Of path but thro' the glen alone.--
But every thought was lost in fear,
When, as their bounding bark drew near
The craggy base, she felt the waves
Hurry them toward those dismal caves
That from the Deep in windings pass
Beneath that Mount's volcanic mass;--
And loud a voice on deck commands
To lower the mast and light the brands!--
Instantly o'er the dashing tide
Within a cavern's mouth they glide,
Gloomy as that eternal Porch
Thro' which departed spirits go:--
Not even the flare of brand and torch
Its flickering light could further throw
Than the thick flood that boiled below.
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