A voice of sorrow! not from thence it rose; ’Twas not the childless mother. Syrian maids, Where with red wave the mountain streamlet flows, Keep tearful vigil in their native shades. With dirge and plaint the cedar-groves resound, Each rock’s deep echo for Adonis mourns: Weep for the dead! Away! the lost is found-- To life and love the buried god returns! Then wakes the timbrel--then the forests ring, And shouts of frenzied joy are on each breeze’s wing! XXVI. But fill’d with holier joy the Persian stood, In silent reverence, on the mountain’s brow, At early dayspring, while the expanding flood Of radiance burst around, above, below-- Bright, boundless as eternity: he gazed Till his full soul, imbibing heaven, o’erflow’d In worship of th’ Invisible, and praised In thee, O Sun! the symbol and abode Of life, and power, and excellence--the throne Where dwelt the Unapproach’d, resplendently alone.[146] XXVII. What if his thoughts, with erring fondness, gave Mysterious sanctity to things which wear Th’ Eternal’s impress?--if the living wave, The circling heavens, the free and boundless air-- If the pure founts of everlasting flame, Deep in his country’s hallow’d vales enshrined, And the bright stars maintain’d a silent claim To love and homage from his awe-struck mind? Still with his spirit dwelt a lofty dream Of uncreated Power, far, far o’er these supreme. XXVIII. And with that faith was conquest. He whose name To Judah’s harp of prophecy had rung-- He, of whose yet unborn and distant fame The mighty voice of Inspiration sung, He came, the victor Cyrus! As he pass’d, Thrones to his footstep rock’d, and monarchs lay Suppliant and clothed with dust; while nations cast Their ancient idols down before _his_ way, Who in majestic march, from shore to shore, The quenchless flame revered by Persia’s children bore. [145] _Serab_, mirage. [146] At an earlier stage in the composition of this poem, the following stanza was here inserted:-- “Nor rose the Magian’s hymn, sublimely swelling In full-toned homage to the source of flame, From fabric rear’d by man, the gorgeous dwelling Of such bright idol-forms as art could frame. Be rear’d no temple, bade no walls contain The breath of incense or the voice of prayer; But made the boundless universe his fane, The rocks his altar-stone--adoring there The Being whose Omnipotence pervades All deserts and all depths, and hallows loneliest shades.”