The Djinns

Town, tower,Shore, deep,Where lowerCliff's steep;Waves gray,Where playWinds gay,All sleep.

Hark! a sound,Far and slight,Breathes aroundOn the nightHigh and higher,Nigh and nigher,Like a fire,Roaring, bright.

Now, on 'tis sweepingWith rattling beat,Like dwarf imp leapingIn gallop fleetHe flies, he prances,In frolic fancies,On wave-crest dancesWith pattering feet.

Hark, the rising swell,With each new burst!Like the tolling bellOf a convent curst;Like the billowy roarOn a storm-lashed shore,--Now hushed, but once moreMaddening to its worst.

O God! the deadly soundOf the Djinn's fearful cry!Quick, 'neath the spiral roundOf the deep staircase fly!See, see our lamplight fade!And of the balustradeMounts, mounts the circling shadeUp to the ceiling high!

'Tis the Djinns' wild streaming swarmWhistling in their tempest flight;Snap the tall yews 'neath the storm,Like a pine flame crackling bright.Swift though heavy, lo! their crowdThrough the heavens rushing loudLike a livid thunder-cloudWith its bolt of fiery might!

Ho! they are on us, close without!Shut tight the shelter where we lie!With hideous din the monster rout,Dragon and vampire, fill the sky!The loosened rafter overheadTrembles and bends like quivering reed;Shakes the old door with shuddering dread,As from its rusty hinge 'twould fly!Wild cries of hell! voices that howl and shriek!The horrid troop before the tempest tossed--O Heaven!--descends my lowly roof to seek:

Bends the strong wall beneath the furious host.Totters the house as though, like dry leaf shornFrom autumn bough and on the mad blast borne,Up from its deep foundations it were tornTo join the stormy whirl. Ah! all is lost!

O Prophet! if thy hand but nowSave from these hellish things,A pilgrim at thy shrine I'll bow,Laden with pious offerings.Bid their hot breath its fiery rainStream on the faithful's door in vain;Vainly upon my blackened paneGrate the fierce claws of their dark wings!

They have passed!--and their wild legionCease to thunder at my door;Fleeting through night's rayless region,Hither they return no more.Clanking chains and sounds of woeFill the forests as they go;And the tall oaks cower low,Bent their flaming light before.

On! on! the storm of wingsBears far the fiery fear,Till scarce the breeze now bringsDim murmurings to the ear;Like locusts' humming hail,Or thrash of tiny flailPlied by the fitful galeOn some old roof-tree sere.

Fainter now are borneFeeble mutterings still;As when Arab hornSwells its magic peal,Shoreward o'er the deepFairy voices sweep,And the infant's sleepGolden visions fill.

Each deadly Djinn,Dark child of fright,Of death and sin,Speeds in wild flight.Hark, the dull moan,Like the deep toneOf Ocean's groan,Afar, by night!

More and moreFades it slow,As on shoreRipples flow,--As the plaintFar and faintOf a saintMurmured low.

Hark! hist!Around,I list!The boundsOf spaceAll traceEffaceOf sound.