Page:Moyarra- An Australian Legend in Two Cantos, 1891.djvu/63

 Searching as if it would deny The too appalling certainty. Turn! turn! Moyarra! from the sight, Thy glance is powerless as thy might.

Who hath not felt, when Death was near And all he loved lay on the bier, That icy chill, that deadly calm. That calenture that gulls the sense, Shedding disease, but feigning balm. Like the stillness ere the storm Bursts in its wild magnificence And the lightning springs from its form? Ganst thou tell where that lightning vanished, Or where the spirit Death hath banished? The sorcery of that hour, confessed, Weighs heavily on the gazer's breast As the miasma's deadly dews O'er the languid frame their power diffuse; Felt, though unseen, yet all-pervading The soul, which recks not the invading Till, sunk beneath the treacherous thrall Flung o'er us by Death's gloomy pall, With stupid stare we view