Page:Superstition and Revelation.pdf/8

 Let not his shrieks reveal the dreadful tale! Well may the drum's loud peal o'erpower an infant's wail!

XXV. A voice of sorrow! not from thence it rose; 'Twas not the childless mother. Syrian maids, Where with red wave the mountain streamlet flows, Keep tearful vigil in their native shades. With dirge and plaint the cedar-groves resound, Each rock's deep echo for Adonis mourns: Weep for the dead! Away! the lost is found— To life and love the buried god returns! Then wakes the timbrel—then the forests ring, And shouts of frenzied joy are on each breeze's wing!

XXVI. But fill'd with holier joy the Persian stood, In silent reverence, on the mountain's brow, At early dayspring, while the expanding flood Of radiance burst around, above, below— Bright, boundless as eternity: he gazed Till his full soul, imbibing heaven, o'erflow'd In worship of th' Invisible, and praised In thee, O Sun! the symbol and abode Of life, and power, and excellence—the throne Where dwelt the Unapproach'd, resplendently alone.

XXVII. What if his thoughts, with erring fondness, gave Mysterious sanctity to things which wear Th' Eternal's impress?—if the living wave, The circling heavens, the free and boundless air— If the pure founts of everlasting flame, Deep in his country's hallow'd vales enshrined, And the bright stars maintain'd a silent claim To love and homage from his awestruck mind? Still with his spirit dwelt a lofty dream Of uncreated Power, far, far o'er these supreme.

XXVIII. And with that faith was conquest He whose name To Judah's harp of prophecy had rung—