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Oh! glimpse of heav'n! to him unknown
That hath not track'd the burning zone!
—Forward they press—they gaze dismay'd—
The waters of the desert fade!
Melting to vapours, that elude
The eye, the lip, their brightness woo'd*[1]

What meteor comes?—a purple haze
Hath half obscur'd the noontide rays:
Onward it moves in swift career,
A blush upon the atmosphere;
Haste, haste! avert th' impending doom,
Fall prostrate!—'tis the dread Simoom!
Bow down your faces—till the blast
On its red wing of flame hath past,
Far bearing o'er the sandy wave,
The viewless angel of the grave.

It came—'tis vanish'd—but hath left
The wanderers e'en of hope bereft†[2];
The ardent heart, the vigorous frame,
Pride, courage, strength, its power could tame;
Faint with despondence, worn with toil,
They sink upon the burning soil;
Resign'd, amidst those realms of gloom,
To find their death-bed and their tomb.

But onward still!—yon distant spot
Of verdure can deceive you not.
Yon palms, which tremulously seem'd
Reflected as the waters gleam'd,
Along th' horizon's verge display'd,
Still rear their slender colonnade,
A landmark, guiding o'er the plain,
The Caravan's exhausted train.

  1. * The mirage, or nitrous sand assuming the appearance of water.
  2. † The extreme languor and despondence produced by the Simoom, even when its effects are not fatal, have been described by many travellers.