And, in long wanderings o'er a desert land,
Those tender feet imprint the scorching sand.
"Yet more, yet deeper woe, shall those behold
Who live through toils unequall'd and untold!
On the wild shore, beneath the burning sky,
The hapless pair, exhausted, sink to die!
Bedew the rock with tears of pain intense,
Of bitterest anguish, thrilling every sense;
Till in one last embrace, with mortal throes,
Their struggling spirits mount from anguish to repose!"
As the dark phantom sternly thus portray'd
Our future ills, in Horror's deepest shade,—
"Who then art thou?" I cried. "Dread being, tell
Each sense thus bending in amazement's spell!"
—With fearful shriek, far echoing o'er the tide,
Writhing his lips and eyes, he thus replied:
"Behold the genius of that secret shore
Where the wind rages and the billows roar—
That stormy Cape, for ages mine alone,
To Pompey, Strabo, Pliny, all unknown!
Far to the southern pole my throne extends,
That hidden rock, which Afric's region ends.
Behold that spirit, whose avenging might,
Whose fiercest wrath your daring deeds excite."
......
Thus having said, with strange, terrific cries,
The giant-spectre vanish'd from our eyes;
In sable clouds dissolved—while far around,
Dark ocean's heaving realms his parting yells resound!
