 | Mansoul or The Riddle of the World |  |
In idle hour, as this, (a day of Peace;
Which seld-while long endures in wilderness;
Full of alárms, blood feuds, old enmities.)
In yonder booths, where tribesmen now resort;
That light down from their beasts, in the Remove;
To some chief tent, shelter from the Suns blaze;
(That beats upon all heads!) to daily chat;
And counsel take, óf the Tribes common cares:
That Daughters haply uttered name, shall wreathe;
Not only young lips, but move old stout hearts!
Which seld-while long endures in wilderness;
Full of alárms, blood feuds, old enmities.)
In yonder booths, where tribesmen now resort;
That light down from their beasts, in the Remove;
To some chief tent, shelter from the Suns blaze;
(That beats upon all heads!) to daily chat;
And counsel take, óf the Tribes common cares:
That Daughters haply uttered name, shall wreathe;
Not only young lips, but move old stout hearts!
Housewives already are sallying from the tents;
Bearing spent water-skins, ín a land of thirst:
To fill them at the pit. How goodly is that
Full, thick, strong-sounding, in the nomads' ears;
Of poured-out water, in their leathern troughs!
Bearing spent water-skins, ín a land of thirst:
To fill them at the pit. How goodly is that
Full, thick, strong-sounding, in the nomads' ears;
Of poured-out water, in their leathern troughs!
A new Impulsion our forwandered feet
Bears fórth. Esáus hills wé and sandy region,
Soon pass beneath: then under Midians cliffs,
Behold a Valley of Tombs, hewn in sand-rock.
Were those the eternal sumptuous sepulchres;
Of old forgotten tradeful merchant-wights;
That gold and frank-incense fetched, from far South parts:
Dwellers themselves, in víllages óf clay walls;
Which sliding Time now utterly hath díssolved.
Bears fórth. Esáus hills wé and sandy region,
Soon pass beneath: then under Midians cliffs,
Behold a Valley of Tombs, hewn in sand-rock.
86
Of old forgotten tradeful merchant-wights;
That gold and frank-incense fetched, from far South parts:
Dwellers themselves, in víllages óf clay walls;
Which sliding Time now utterly hath díssolved.
Those their eternal mansions, stand defaced,
In ruinous ranks, in rémote solitude;
Where passeth none ány more of hís free-choice.
Their rotten carcasses, lóng ago have poured out;
Seekers of treasures. Wild men of the waste;
Their cere-cloths rent, with laughter, on blown sand.
Loathe foul hyenas, which there lope by night;
Their strewed now pithless bones, and them defile.
In ruinous ranks, in rémote solitude;
Where passeth none ány more of hís free-choice.
Their rotten carcasses, lóng ago have poured out;
Seekers of treasures. Wild men of the waste;
Their cere-cloths rent, with laughter, on blown sand.
Loathe foul hyenas, which there lope by night;
Their strewed now pithless bones, and them defile.
| Mansoul or The Riddle of the World | |