"O patient Moon! go not behind a cloud, But listen to our words. We, too, must die-- And thou!--the vassal stars shall fail to hear Thy queenly voice over the azure fields Calling at sunset. They shall fade. The Earth Shall look and miss their sweet, familiar eyes, And, crouching, die beneath the feet of GOD. Then come the glories, then the nobler times, For which the Orbs travail'd in sorrow; then The mystery shall be clear, the burden gone; And surely men shall know why nations came Transfigured for the pangs; why not a spot Of this wide world but hath a tale of wo; Why all this glorious universe is Death's. "Go, Moon! and tell the stars, and tell the suns, Impatient of the wo, the strength of him Who doth consent to death; and tell the climes That meet thy mournful eyes, one after one, Through all the lapses of the lonesome night, The pathos of repose, the might of Death!" The voice is hush'd; the great old wood is still: The Moon, like one in meditation, walks Behind a cloud. We, too, have them for thought, While, as a sun, GOD takes the West of Time And smites the pyramid of Eternity. The shadow lengthens over many worlds Doom'd to the dark mausoleum and mound. We do not remember any poem on Mahomet finer than the following: EL AMIN. Who is this that comes from Hara? not in kingly pomp and pride, But a great, free son of Nature, lion-souled and eagle-eyed! Who is this before whose presence idols tumble to the sod? While he cries out--"Allah Akbar! and there is no god but God!" Wandering in the solemn desert, he has wondered like a child Not as yet too proud to wonder, at the sun, and star, and wild. "Oh, thou moon! who made thy brightness? Stars! who hung you there on high? Answer! so my soul may worship: I must worship or die!" Then there fell the brooding silence that precedes the thunder's roll; And the old Arabian Whirlwind called another Arab soul. Who is this that comes from Hara? not in kingly pomp and pride, But a great, free son of Nature, lion-souled and eagle-eyed! He has stood and seen Mount Hara to the Awful Presence nod; He has heard from cloud and lightning--"Know there is no god but God!" Call ye this man an imposter? He was called "The Faithful," when, A boy, he wandered o'er the deserts, by the wild-eyed Arab men. He was always called "The Faithful." Truth he knew was Allah's breath; But the Lie went darkly gnashing through the corridors of Death. "He was fierce!" Yes! fierce at falsehood--fierce at hideous bits of wood, That the Koreish taught the people made the sun and solitude. But his heart was also gentle, and Affection's graceful palm, Waving in his tropic spirit, to the weary brought a balm.