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The tents that rose by thousands, In the moonlight glimmering pale; Like white waves of a frozen sea, Filling an Alpine vale.

And the Temple's massy shadow Fell broad, and dark, and still, In peace, as if the Holy One Yet watch'd his chosen hill.

But a fearful sound was heard In that old fane's deepest heart, As if mighty wings rush'd by, And a dread voice rais'd the cry, "Let us depart!"

Within the fated city E'en then fierce discord raved, Though o'er night's heaven the comet sword It's vengeful token waved.