We  boldly  prest  into  the  gloomy  grot,

And  soon  distinguish'd  through  the  twilight  shade
A  withered  being  on  a  leafy  cot,

By  a  slow  fire,  almost  untended  laid.
But  one,  a  dark  and  pleasant-featur'd  maid
Stood  by  the  couch  of  her  expiring  sire;

In  gleaming  jad  and  maro  white  array'd,
WThile  oft  she  smote  a  rude,  canorous  lyre
As  if  to  soothe  the  soul  so  wrought  with  anguish  dire.
But  when  the  dusky  maid  ourselves  beheld,
She  ceas'd  to  play  and  trembled  in  affright,

While  frequent  sobs  in  sad  succession  well'd
From  her  lorn  breast.     Betimes  a  varying  light
Glanc'd  from  her  eyes,  dark  as  the  noon  of  night.
She  seemed  so  kind,  so  beautiful,  so  good,
That  the  most  rugged  softened  at  the  sight;

And  wrapt  in  wonder  bold  Ben  Nebo  stood,
While  warm  Desire  aroused  the  current  of  his  blood.
14


Nor  deem  him  weak  within  whose  fiery  veins

Love's  gushing  torrent  rolls  its  molten  stream,
'Tis  Nature's  self,  this  wondrous  law  ordains,

And  charms  the  sense  with  glowing  thoughts,  that  seem
I  kit  the  wild  fancies  of  a  heated  dream.
'Tis  Nature's  self  that  cheers  this  lower  state
With  Love's  magnetic  and  exciting  beam;
That  man  may  feel — and  feeling  recreate
In  pleasures  which  the  dreams  of  Heaven  ante-date.
But  if  each  breast  in  loving  tumult  heaved,

Still  it  was  held  within  decorous  bound,
For  all  were  with  the  sad  event  aggrieved

And  sorrow'd  for  the  maid  in  anguish  drown'd;

For  men  at  times  with  humane  hearts  are  found.
And  gazing  on  the  chief — a  deep-drawn  sigh

Foretold  th'  event.     Mad-like  he  glared  around,
In   Death's  rude  grasp  convuls'd.     Then  glaz'd  his  eye,
The  dank  sweat  stood  upon  his  brow — he  soon  must  die.
