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 Of beautiful Gomorrah! O! the wave Is now upon thee – but too late to save!&mdash;

Sound loves to revel in a summer night: Witness the murmur of the grey twilight 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.