London tubhshed by Lonaman, [rown Gren & Loans Eaternoster Bow

A long death-groan comes with it :-
:- can this be
The place of mirth, the bower of revelry?

She enters - Holy ALLA, what a sight

Was there before her! By the glimmering light
Of the pale dawn, mix'd with the flare of brands
That round lay burning, dropp'd from lifeless hands,
She saw the board, in splendid mockery spread,
Rich censers breathing-garlands overhead-
The urns, the cups, from which they late had quaff'd,
All gold and gems, but-what had been the draught?
Oh! who need ask, that saw those livid guests,
With their swoll'n heads sunk blackening on their breasts,

Or looking pale to Heaven with glassy glare,

As if they sought but saw no mercy there;

As if they felt, though poison rack'd them through,

Remorse the deadlier torment of the two!
While some, the bravest, hardiest in the train

Of their false Chief, who on the battle-plain
Would have met death with transport by his side,
Here mute and helpless gasp'd;-but, as they died,
Look'd horrible vengeance with their eyes' last strain,
And clench'd the slackening hand at him in vain.

Dreadful it was to see the ghastly stare, The stony look of horror and despair,

Which some of these expiring victims cast

Upon their souls' tormentor to the last ;

Upon that mocking Fiend, whose Veil, now rais'd,
Show'd them, as in death's agony they gaz'd,

Not the long promis'd light, the brow, whose beaming
Was to come forth, all conquering, all redeeming,

But features horribler than Hell e'er trac'd

On its own brood; no Demon of the Waste,*

No church-yard Ghole, caught lingering in the light

Of the blest sun, e'er blasted human sight

With lineaments so foul, so fierce as those

The' Impostor now, in grinning mockery, shows:

"There, ye wise Saints, behold your Light, your Star"Ye would be dupes and victims, and ye are.

"Is it enough? or must I, while a thrill

"Lives in your sapient bosoms, cheat

you

still?

*“The Afghauns believe each of the numerous solitudes and deserts of their country to be inhabited by a lonely demon, whom they call the Ghoolee Beeabau, or Spirit of the Waste. They often illustrate the wildness of any sequestered tribe, by saying, they are wild as the Demon of the Waste.”—Elphinstone's Caubul.