"This night the moon should see the beacon brand 33 Link fire to fire from Beli's Druid pile; Rock call on rock, till blazes all the land From Sabra's wave to Mona's parent isle! Let Fredom write in characters of fire, 'Who climbs my throne ascends his funeral pyre!'" The Prophet ceased; and rose with stern accord 34 The warrior senate. Sudden every shield Leapt into lightning from the clashing sword; And choral voices consentaneous peal'd-- "Hail to our guests! the wine of war is red; Fire fight the banquet--steel prepare the bed!" While thus the peril threat'ning land and throne, 35 Unharm'd, unheeding, dreaming goes the King, Where from the brief Elysium, Acheron Awaits the victim whom its priest shall bring. And where art thou, meek guardian of the brave? Though fails the eagle, still the dove may save! When, lured by signs that seem'd his aid to implore, 36 From his good steed the lord of knighthood sprung, [And left it wistful by the dismal door, Since the cragg'd roof too low descending hung For the great war-horse in its barb'd array; And little dream'd he of the long delay,--] His path the dove nor favour'd nor forbade; 37 Motionless, folding on sharp rocks its wing, With its soft eyes it watch'd, resign'd and sad, Where fates, ordain'd for sorrow, led the King; Nor did he miss (till earth regain'd the day) The plumed angel vanish'd from his way. Then oft, in truth, and oft in blissful hours, 38 Miss'd was that faithful guide through stormier life. Ah common lot! how oft, mid summer flowers, We miss the soother of the winter strife; How oft we mourn in Fortune's sunlit vale Some silenced heart with which we shared the gale! But absent _not_ the dove, albeit unseen; 39 In some still foliage it had found its nest: At night it hover'd where his steps had been, Pale through the moonbeams in the air of rest; By the lull'd wave and shadowy banks it pass'd, Lingering where love with AEgle linger'd last. And when with chiller dawn resought the lone 40 And leafy gloom in which it shunn'd the day, Beneath those boughs you might have heard it moan, Low-wailing to itself its plaintive lay; Till with the sun rose all the songs that fill Morn with delight; and _then_ the dove was still. But now, as towards the Temple of the Shades 41 The King went heavily--a gleam of light Shot through the gloaming of the cedarn glades, And the dove glided to his breast: the sight Came like a smile from Heaven upon the King, And his heart warm'd beneath the brooding wing.