the wave”—Ula Degusi is the Turkish appellation;
     but, on its own shores, it is called Bahar Loth, or
     Almotanah. There were undoubtedly more than two cities
     engulfed in the “dead sea.” In the valley of Siddim were
     five—Adrah, Zeboin, Zoar, Sodom and Gomorrah. Stephen of
     Byzantium mentions eight, and Strabo thirteeen, (engulphed)
    —but the last is out of all reason. It is said, (Tacitus, Strabo, Josephus, Daniel of St. Saba, Nau,
Maundrell, Troilo, D’Arvieux) that after an excessive drought, the
vestiges of columns, walls, &c. are seen above the surface. At _any_
season, such remains may be discovered by looking down into the
transparent lake, and at such distances as would argue the existence of
many settlements in the space now usurped by the ‘Asphaltites.’
          *That stole upon the ear, in Eyraco,
          Of many a wild star-gazer long ago—
          That stealeth ever on the ear of him
          Who, musing, gazeth on the distance dim. And sees the darkness coming as a cloud—
          ***Is not its form—its voice—most palpable and loud? But what is this?—it cometh—and it brings
          A music with it—’tis the rush of wings—
          A pause—and then a sweeping, falling strain
          And Nesace is in her halls again. From the wild energy of wanton haste
              Her cheeks were flushing, and her lips apart;
          And zone that clung around her gentle waist
              Had burst beneath the heaving of her heart. Within the centre of that hall to breathe
          She paus’d and panted, Zanthe! all beneath,
          The fairy light that kiss’d her golden hair
          And long’d to rest, yet could but sparkle there! ***Young flowers were whispering in melody
          To happy flowers that night—and tree to tree;
          Fountains were gushing music as they fell
          In many a star-lit grove, or moon-lit dell;
          Yet silence came upon material things—
          Fair flowers, bright waterfalls and angel wings—
          And sound alone that from the spirit sprang
          Bore burthen to the charm the maiden sang:
     * Eyraco—Chaldea. ** I have often thought I could distinctly hear the sound of
     the darkness as it stole over the horizon. *** Fairies use flowers for their charactery.—_Merry Wives
     of Windsor_. [William Shakespeare]
           “’Neath blue-bell or streamer—
               Or tufted wild spray
           That keeps, from the dreamer,
               *The moonbeam away—
             Bright beings! that ponder,
               With half closing eyes,
           On the stars which your wonder
               Hath drawn from the skies,
           Till they glance thro’ the shade, and
               Come down to your brow
           Like—eyes of the maiden
               Who calls on you now—
           Arise! from your dreaming
               In violet bowers,
           To duty beseeming
               These star-litten hours—
           And shake from your tresses
               Encumber’d with dew
           The breath of those kisses
               That cumber them too—
           (O! how, without you, Love! Could angels be blest?) Those kisses of true love
               That lull’d ye to rest! Up!—shake from your wing
               Each hindering thing:
           The dew of the night—
               It would weigh down your flight;
           And true love caresses—
               O! leave them apart! * In Scripture is this passage—“The sun shall not harm
     thee by day, nor the moon by night.” It is perhaps not
     generally known that the moon, in Egypt, has the effect of
     producing blindness to those who sleep with the face exposed
     to its rays, to which circumstance the passage evidently
     alludes. They are light on the tresses,
              But lead on the heart. Ligeia! Ligeia! My beautiful one! Whose harshest idea
              Will to melody run,
          O! is it thy will
              On the breezes to toss? Or, capriciously still,
              *Like the lone Albatross,
          Incumbent on night
              (As she on the air)
          To keep watch with delight
              On the harmony there? Ligeia! whatever
              Thy image may be,
          No magic shall sever
              Thy music from thee. Thou hast bound many eyes
              In a dreamy sleep—
          But the strains still arise
              Which _thy_ vigilance keep—
          The sound of the rain
              Which leaps down to the flower,
          And dances again
              In the rhythm of the shower—
          **The murmur that springs
              From the growing of grass
     * The Albatross is said to sleep on the wing. ** I met with this idea in an old English tale, which I am
     now unable to obtain and quote from memory:—“The verie
     essence and, as it were, springe-heade, and origine of all
     musiche is the verie pleasaunte sounde which the trees of
     the forest do make when they growe.”
          Are the music of things—
              But are modell’d, alas!—
          Away, then my dearest,
              O! hie thee away
          To springs that lie clearest
              Beneath the moon-ray—
           To lone lake that smiles,
              In its dream of deep rest,
          At the many star-isles
              That enjewel its breast—
          Where wild flowers, creeping,
              Have mingled their shade,
          On its margin is sleeping
              Full many a maid—
          Some have left the cool glade, and
              * Have slept with the bee—
          Arouse them my maiden,
              On moorland and lea—
          Go! breathe on their slumber,
              All softly in ear,
          The musical number
              They slumber’d to hear—
          For what can awaken
              An angel so soon
     * The wild bee will not sleep in the shade if there be
     moonlight. The rhyme in this verse, as in one about sixty
     lines before, has an appearance of affectation. It is,
     however, imitated from Sir W. Scott, or rather from Claud
     Halcro—in whose mouth I admired its effect:
                O! were there an island,
                    Tho’ ever so wild
                Where woman might smile, and
                    No man be beguil’d, &c.
          Whose sleep hath been taken
              Beneath the cold moon,
          As the spell which no slumber
              Of witchery may test,
          The rhythmical number
              Which lull’d him to rest?”
          Spirits in wing, and angels to the view,
          A thousand seraphs burst th’ Empyrean thro’,
          Young dreams still hovering on their drowsy flight—
          Seraphs in all but “Knowledge,” the keen light
          That fell, refracted, thro’ thy bounds, afar
          O Death!