The night hung over Hebron all her stars,
Miraculous processional of flame,
and below from out the “purple blur” rose the minarets of the mosque where
Sepulchred for centuries untold,
The bones of Isaac and of Joseph lay;
And broidered cloths of silver and of gold
Were heaped and draped o’er Abraham’s crumbled clay.
In The Lutes of Morn there are two sonnets—though lyrics in effect, so does the song prevail with Mr. Scollard—that serve hastily to sketch a moving scene and in their touch bring to mind Paul the chronicler. The first is “Passing Rhodes,” and contains these lines with a biblical tang,
At day’s dim marge, hard on the shut of eve,
We rocked abreast the rugged Rhodian isle,