Death hovers round us: in the zephyr’s sigh,
As in the storm, he comes—and lo! Eternity!
XI.
As one left lonely on the desert sands
Of burning Afric, where, without a guide,
He gazes as the pathless waste expands—
Around, beyond, interminably wide;
While the red haze, presaging the Simoom,
Obscures the fierce resplendence of the sky,
Or suns of blasting light perchance illume