712 ANNUAL REGISTER, 1810. 



Lo ! how the Steed, with sudden start. 

 Turns his quick head to every part ; 

 Long files of men on every side appear. 

 The sight might well his heart affright, 

 And yet the silence that is here 



Inspires a stranger fear ; 

 For not a murmur, not a sound 

 Of breath or motion rises round, 

 No stir is heard in all that mighty crowd ; 

 He neighs, and from the temple-wall 

 The voice re-echoes loud. 

 Loud and distinct, as from a hill 

 Across a lonely vale, when all is still. 



Within the temple, on his golden throne 

 Reclined, Kehama lies, 

 Watching with steady eyes 

 The perfumed light that, burning bright, 

 Metes out the passing hours. 

 On either hand his eunuchs stand, 

 Fresh'ning with fans of peacock plumes the air 

 Which, redolent of all rich gums and flowers, 

 Seems, overcharged with sweets, to stagnate there. ' 

 Lo ! the time-taper's flame ascending slow 

 Creeps up its coil toward the fated line ; 



Kehama rises and goes forth. 



And from the altar, ready where it lies. 



He takes the axe of sacrifice. 



That instant from the crowd with sudden shout, 



A man sprang out, 

 To lay upon the Steed his hand profane. 

 A thousand archers, with unerring eye. 



At once let fly. 

 And with their hurtling arrows fill the sky. 



In vain they fall upon him fast as rain ; 

 He bears a charmed life, which may defy 

 All weapons, — and the darts that whiz around, 

 He from an adamantine panoply 

 Repell'dj fall idly to the ground. 

 Kehama clasp'd his hands in agony. 

 And saw him grasp the hallow'd courser's mane. 

 Spring up with sudden bound, 

 And with a frantic cry. 

 And madman's gesture, gallop round and round. 



I 



