Had sunk the forms of heroes and of gods;
While near—dread offspring of the burning day!
Coil’d midst forsaken halls the serpent lay.
There came an exile, long by fate pursued,
To shelter in that awful solitude.
Well did that wanderer’s high yet faded mien
Suit the sad grandeur of the desert scene:—
Shadow’d, not veil’d, by locks of wintry snow,
Pride sat, still mighty, on his furrow’d brow;
Time had not quench’d the terrors of his eye,