Deep is the lamentation! Not alone
From Sages justly honoured by mankind;
But from the ghostly tenants of the wind,
Demons and Spirits, many a dolorous groan
Issues for that dominion overthrown:
Proud Tiber grieves, and far-off Ganges, blind
As his own worshipers: and Nile, reclined
Upon his monstrous urn, the farewell moan
Renews. Through every forest, cave, and den,
Where frauds were hatched of old, hath sorrow past
Hangs o’er the Arabian Prophet’s native Waste,
Where once his airy helpers schemed and planned
‘Mid spectral lakes bemocking thirsty men,
And stalking pillars built of fiery sand.
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