5. And there lay the rider distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail; And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. 6. And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, A SPIRIT pass'd before me: I beheld Deep sleep came down on every eye save mine- 2. "Is man more just than God? Is man more pure "Than he who deems even Seraphs insecure? "Creatures of clay-vain dwellers in the dust! "The moth survives you, and are ye more just? "Things of a day! you wither ere the night, "Heedless and blind to Wisdom's wasted light." THE END. Printed by W. Dugdale, Green Street, Leicester Square. |