While sleep had set its seal on many eyes, Balaam, the Seer, was forth beneath the stars, Whose beauty glimmered in Euphrates’ stream, Gemming the mournful willows’ floating hair. Behind him were the mountains of the east, The dark-browed nurses of the blue-eyed founts, Whose lone hearts were the life of Pethor-land. Westward, beyond the river, was the waste, O’er which, this second time, with priceless gifts, Had come from Balak noble messengers; And westward were the eyes of Balaam turned, As one who waits for one who does not come, While wild things came and passed unheeded by, And the night wind, as with an angel’s harp, Played lullaby to all the dreaming flowers. And, gazing on the western sky, he saw A picture, all whose forms were quick with life, Where all was discord, hurrying to and fro, As when two armies strive to gain the field; For, from the outer realms of space, there came Gigantic spearsmen, over whom there waved Gay, many-coloured banners, and these flew, Hither and thither, o’er the starry plain, Pursuing and retreating; others came, And others, till it seemed all Sabaoth Had joined in conflict with the wicked one. And then there was a change; banners and spears Faded away, as fades away the reek Above a hamlet on a frosty morn; And none can tell when he sees last of it. And, in a little while, there grew an arch, Whose keystone was the zenith of the sky, Like to a rainbow, joining east and west, Beautiful, quivering, fearful, ominous, Drawing the heart of Balaam after it. And this, too, vanished, vapor-like, away; And Balaam, though he waited its return, Waited in vain; for warriors, and spears, And banners, and the fiery flash of hosts Embattled, and the mystic arch, were gone, And came no more.