XLIII.

But all is stillness now. May this be sleep Which wraps those Eastern thousands? Yes! perchance Along yon moonlit shore and dark-blue deep, Bright are their visions with the Houri’s glance, And they behold the sparkling fountains dance Beneath the bowers of paradise that shed Rich odours o’er the faithful; but the lance, The bow, the spear, now round the slumberers spread, Ere Fate fulfil such dreams, must rest beside the dead.