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84

XII. DESART.

TRAVELLERS.
False Arab! faithless robber, stay!
When water fails, will guides betray?
We faint with thirst! no drop remains
To slake our lips, or cool our veins!
He flies—he flies—with treacherous haste
He leaves us on the dreary waste:
Clear springs, he said, or verdure mild
Would chear us o'er the trackless wild,
Or stars of gold the sand illume,
Or groves of cool acacia bloom:
'Twas falsehood all—no verdant scene
But bitter senna's barren green,
No woods appear, no waters bless—
Unbounded, hideous wilderness!


85

SPIRIT.
Loud lamentings, piercing cries
Fill the solitary plain:
Spirits of the desart—rise!
Rise! 'tis man's insensate train.
Lo for guilty gold they stray—
Avarice leads their impious crew!
Withering squadrons, blast their way—
Ruthless fiends! their steps pursue!
Desolate the burning land,
Thro' the dusty whirlwind glare,
Stalk amid the pillar'd sand,
Scorch the breezes, taint the air!
Let nor worm, nor insect breath
Live beneath the venom'd gale—
Spread the purple haze of death,
Turn the sultry planets pale!

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Instant be our task begun!

FURIES.
Fiend of death! the work is done.
Sandy whirlwinds sweep the ground—
Fiery columns close them round—
Now they tremble! Now they sink!
Haste thee life's last sob to drink!
Poison taints the blushing sky,
Winds breathe flame—they die! they die!

 

See Bruce's sublime narrative of his journey over the desart of Sennaar.