Hath o’er the dwellings of the desert pass’d.[70]
Fearful the calm—nor voice, nor step, nor breath
Disturbs that scene of beauty and of death:
Those vaulted roofs re-echo not a sound,
Save the wild gush of waters—murmuring round
In ceaseless melodies of plaintive tone,
Through chambers peopled by the dead alone.
O’er the mosaic floors, with carnage red,
Breastplate and shield and cloven helm are spread
In mingled fragments—glittering to the light