The bow, the spear, now round the slumberers spread,
Ere Fate fulfil such dreams, must rest beside the dead.
XLIV.
May this be sleep, this hush?—A sleepless eye
Doth hold its vigil midst that dusky race!
One that would scan th’ abyss of destiny
E’en now is gazing on the skies to trace,
In those bright worlds, the burning isles of space,
Fate’s mystic pathway: they the while, serene,
Walk in their beauty; but Mohammed’s face