The far peaks faded from their sight,
The mountain walls fell down like night,
And nothing now was to be seen
Save but the dim sun hung in sheen
Of fairy garments all blood-red,—
The hell beneath, the hell o'erhead.
A black man tumbled from his steed.
He clutch'd in death the moving sands.
He caught the round earth in his hands,
He gripp'd it, held it hard and grim....