 | The writings of Robert C. Sands |  |
265
XIII.
Swift o'er the structure climbs the fire;In serpent course its streams aspire:
Entwined about their crackling prey,
Aloft they shoot with spiral way:
Wreathing and flashing fiercely round,
Their glittering net was mingling wound
O'er all the pile; but soon they blended;
One mighty volume then ascended,—
A column dense of mounting flame:—
Blacker the shrouded heaven became,
And like substantial darkness frowned
O'er the red atmosphere; around
The sands gave back the unnatural glare;
Lifting their ghostly arms in air,
Were seen those trunks all bleak and bare;
At distance rose the giant pine,
Kindling, as if by power divine,
Of fire a living tree;
While, where the circling forests sweep,
Each varying hue, or bright or deep,
Shone as if raised o'er nature's sleep,
By magic's witchery.
| The writings of Robert C. Sands | |