«A mighty work the pride of Shiedad plann'd, Here in the wilderness to form A garden more surpassing fair Than that before whose gate The lightning of the Cherub's fiery sword Since Adam, the transgressor, thence was driven. A kingly pile sublime, For this the central caverns gave their gems; Open'd the cedar forest to the sun; Spun her sepulchral egg; The hunter African Provok'd the danger of the elephant's wrath; The Ethiop, keen of scent, Detects the ebony,9 That deep-incarthi'd, and hating light, With darkness feeds her boughs of raven grain. Ages have past away, And never mortal eye Gazed on their vanity. XX!I. « The garden,-copious springs And every flower was planted there «The work of pride went on- The corn matur'd not for the food of man, We called on Razeka for food 10 They did not hear our prayers, they could not hear! No cloud appear'd in Heaven, No nightly dews came down. XXIV. << Then to the place of concourse 11 messengers Were sent, to Mecca, where the nations came, Round the Red Hillock kneeling, to implore God in his favour'd place. We sent to call on God; Ah fools! unthinking that from all the earth The heart ascends to him. We sent to call on God; Ah fools! to think the Lord XXV. «Meantime the work of pride went on, And still before our Idols, wood and stone, We bow'd the impious knee. Turn, men of Ad, and call upon the Lord,' The Prophet Houd exclaim'd; Turn men of Ad, and look to Heaven, And fly the wrath to come.' We mock'd the Prophet's words;Now dost thou dream, old man, Or art thou drunk with wine? Future woe and wrath to come, Still thy prudent voice forebodes; When it comes will we believe, Till it comes will we go on In the way our fathers went. Now are thy words from God? Or dost thou dream, old man, Or art thou drunk with wine?' The day of visitation was at hand, Would ye behold its wonders, enter in! I have no heart to visit it. Time hath not harm'd the eternal monument; Time is not here, nor days, nor months, nor years, An everlasting Now of misery!— Ye must have heard their fame, The mighty Pyramids,— For sure those mighty piles have overlived What, though unmov'd they bore the deluge weight,14 What though their founder fill'd with miracles The baby wonders of a woman's work! To trample azure light, As its pure substance loath'd material touch, Sun of the lofty dome, Darkness hath no dominion o'er its beams; Intense it glows, an ever-flowing tide Was lost in Paradise. Therefore at Shedad's voice Here towered the palm, a silver trunk, Loose from its rugged boughs. 18 power, Their fathers handed down. What was to him the squander'd wealth? What was to him the burthen of the land, The lavish'd misery? He did but speak his will, And, like the blasting Siroc of the East, The ruin of the royal voice Found its way every-where. I marvel not that he, whose power No earthly law, no human feeling curb'd, Mock'd at the living God! XXVIII. « And now the King's command went forth All the collected multitudes of Ad, Hither they came, the old man and the boy, Husband and wife, the master and the slave, Ilither they came. From yonder high tower top, The loftiest of the Palace, Shedad look'd Down on his tribe their tents on yonder sands Rose like the countless billows of the sea; Their tread and voices like the ocean roar, One deep confusion of tumultuous sounds. They saw their King's magnificence; beheld His palace sparkling like the Angel domes Of Paradise; his garden like the bowers Of early Eden, and they shouted out, 'Great is the King! a God upon the earth!' XXIX. «Intoxicate with joy and pride, And in his wantonness of heart he bade The Prophet Houd be brought; And o'er the marble courts, He led the Man of God. 'Is not this a stately pile?' Cried the Monarch in his Joy. 'Hath ever eye beheld, Houd, they say that Heaven imparted If so thy wisdom can.' ΧΧΧ. «The Prophet heard his vaunt, And, with an awful smile, he answer'd him, 'O Shedad! only in the hour of death 19 We learn to value things like these aright.' XXXI. «Hast thou a fault to find 'The walls are weak, the building ill secur'd. Azrael can enter in! The Sarsar can pierce through, XXXII. «I was beside the Monarch when he spakeGentle the Prophet spake, But in his eye there dwelt A sorrow that disturb'd me while I gaz'd. And called on God for rain. My prayer ascended, and was heard; One white, and like the flying cloud of noon, I thank'd the gracious Power, And chose the black cloud, heavy with its wealth.' 'Right! right! a thousand tongues exclaim'd, And all was merriment and joy. XXXVI. Then stood the Prophet up, and cried aloud, 'Woe, woe to Irem! woe to Ad! DEATH is gone up into her palaces! Woe! woe! a day of guilt and punishment, A day of desolation!-As he spake, His large eye roll'd in horror, and so deep His tone, it seem'd some Spirit from within Breath'd through his moveless lips10 the unearthly voice. All looks were turn'd to him. 'O Ad!' he cried, 'Dear native land, by all remembrances Of childhood, by all joys of manhood dear; O Vale of many Waters; morn and night My age must groan for you, and to the grave Go down in sorrow. Thou wilt give thy fruits, But who shall gather them? thy grapes will ripen, But who shall tread the wine-press? Fly the wrath, Ye who would live and save your souls alive! For strong is his right hand that bends the Bow, The arrows that he shoots are sharp, And err not from their aim! 21 XXXVII. « With that a faithful few Prest through the throng to join him. Then arose The shouts of mockery made a coward of me; XXXVIII. « He went, and darker grew At length it open'd, and-O God! O God! There were no waters there! There fell no kindly rain! The Sarsar from its womb went forth, The Icy Wind of Death. ΧΧΧΙΧ. «They fell around me, thousands fell around, There came a voice to me and said, In the Day of Visitation, XL. « When from an agony of prayer I rose, And from the scene of death Attempted to go forth, But round these bowers the Arm of God A barrier that no human force might break. Twice I essay'd to pass. With that a voice was heard, 'O Aswad, be content, and bless the Lord! One righteous deed hath sav'd Thy soul from utter death. And Azrael comes, obedient to the prayer.' XLI. « A miserable man, From Earth and Heaven shut out, I look'd around my prison place; Still groaning with the burthen of my sins, XLII. «O! who can tell the unspeakable misery Of solitude like this! No sound hath ever reach'd my ear No insect sweetly buzz'd amid these groves, Save only me, conceal'd. This Tree alone, that o'er my head As though to welcome me, I love it as my friend, my only friend! XLIII. « I know not for what ages I have dragg'd This miserable life; How often I have seen These ancient trees renew'd, What countless generations of mankind |