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Safie

An eastern tale. By J. H. Reynolds
 
 

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When storms are up, the midnight sky,
Rent by the thunderbolt on high,
Regains one moment of repose
Before its force more raging grows;—
And awful is the silence then,
Till violence returns again.
So for a space the battle stood,
And stillness mark'd the scene of blood;—

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But when their chief was seen no more
The fight grew fiercer than before,—
And ere the evening twilight shed
Its dewy veil on mountain-head,
The plain was strew'd with limbs, and dyed with gore.