LITMIR.BIZ

                 Town, tower,

                   Shore, deep,

                 Where lower

                   Cliff's steep;

                 Waves gray,

                 Where play

                 Winds gay,

                   All sleep.

               Hark! a sound,

                 Far and slight,

               Breathes around

                 On the night

               High and higher,

               Nigh and nigher,

               Like a fire,

                 Roaring, bright.

               Now, on 'tis sweeping

                 With rattling beat,

               Like dwarf imp leaping

                 In gallop fleet

               He flies, he prances,

               In frolic fancies,

               On wave-crest dances

                 With pattering feet.

               Hark, the rising swell,

                 With each new burst!

               Like the tolling bell

                 Of a convent curst;

               Like the billowy roar

               On a storm-lashed shore, —

               Now hushed, but once more

                 Maddening to its worst.

               O God! the deadly sound

                 Of the Djinn's fearful cry!

               Quick, 'neath the spiral round

                 Of the deep staircase fly!

               See, see our lamplight fade!

               And of the balustrade

               Mounts, mounts the circling shade

                 Up to the ceiling high!

             'Tis the Djinns' wild streaming swarm

               Whistling in their tempest flight;

             Snap the tall yews 'neath the storm,

               Like a pine flame crackling bright.

             Swift though heavy, lo! their crowd

             Through the heavens rushing loud

             Like a livid thunder-cloud

               With its bolt of fiery might!

           Ho! they are on us, close without!

             Shut tight the shelter where we lie!

           With hideous din the monster rout,

             Dragon and vampire, fill the sky!

           The loosened rafter overhead

           Trembles and bends like quivering reed;

           Shakes the old door with shuddering dread,

             As from its rusty hinge 'twould fly!

           Wild cries of hell! voices that howl and shriek!

             The horrid troop before the tempest tossed —

           O Heaven! – descends my lowly roof to seek:

             Bends the strong wall beneath the furious host.

           Totters the house as though, like dry leaf shorn

           From autumn bough and on the mad blast borne,

           Up from its deep foundations it were torn

             To join the stormy whirl. Ah! all is lost!

               O Prophet! if thy hand but now

                 Save from these hellish things,

               A pilgrim at thy shrine I'll bow,

                 Laden with pious offerings.

               Bid their hot breath its fiery rain

               Stream on the faithful's door in vain;

               Vainly upon my blackened pane

                 Grate the fierce claws of their dark wings!

             They have passed! – and their wild legion

               Cease to thunder at my door;

             Fleeting through night's rayless region,

               Hither they return no more.

             Clanking chains and sounds of woe

             Fill the forests as they go;

             And the tall oaks cower low,

               Bent their flaming light before.

             On! on! the storm of wings

               Bears far the fiery fear,

             Till scarce the breeze now brings

               Dim murmurings to the ear;

             Like locusts' humming hail,

             Or thrash of tiny flail

             Plied by the fitful gale

               On some old roof-tree sere.

                 Fainter now are borne

                   Feeble mutterings still;

                 As when Arab horn

                   Swells its magic peal,

                 Shoreward o'er the deep

                 Fairy voices sweep,

                 And the infant's sleep

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