Page:Lalla Rookh - Moore - 1817.djvu/117

 Pallid as she, the young, devoted Bride Of the fierce NILE, when, deckt in all the pride Of nuptial pomp, she sinks into his tide. And while the wretched maid hung down her head, And stood as one just risen from the dead Amid that gazing crowd, the fiend would tell His credulous slaves it was some charm or spell Possest her now,--and from that darkened trance Should dawn ere long their Faith's deliverance. Or if at times goaded by guilty shame, Her soul was roused and words of wildness came, Instant the bold blasphemer would translate Her ravings into oracles of fate, Would hail Heaven's signals in her flashing eyes And call her shrieks the language of the skies!

But vain at length his arts--despair is seen Gathering around; and famine comes to glean All that the sword had left unreaped;--in vain At morn and eve across the northern plain