The Dead Sea 1838

Behold the dark and sullen wave

That rolls about fair Siddim’s grave!

In silent awe we gaze upon

The waters, where oblivion

Hath her sable mantle spread

O’er the cities of the dead.

Glad and bright the morning broke,

When Siddim’s myriads awoke

On that judgment-dealing day

That saw them swept the chaff away.

The sun arose with his wonted state,

And gave no sign of their coming fate;

Each flower peeped forth from the golden vale

To meet the kiss of the spicy gale,

Like a maiden shy, when her lover is near,

Half in pleasure, and half in fear;

The drowsy hum of the insect-kind

Came like music on the wind,

And bird and flower, in gorgeous throng,

Wooed the sun with bloom and song.

Sudden all was hushed and dumb

God’s avenging hour had come!

Every heart with fear was quaking,

Every knee with terror shaking,

When, amid the darkened air,

They saw the arm of Vengeance bare!

Swift, that pause of wonder o’er

Came the hurricanoe’s [sic] roar!

Rose the fierce, blaspheming howl,

Blended with the thunder’s growl;

The virgin’s shrik [sic] of horror wild,

The mother’s wailing o’er her child,

The sinner’s hoarse and gasping prayer

For life, the ravings of despair,

And many a quick, convulsive cry

Of nature’s parting agony!

Still, down and down, unceasing came

The stifling deluge of smoke and flame,

And when it ceased, a lurid cloud

Hung, enwrapping, like a shroud,

That reeking spot of guilt and woe,

Whose glory thus was leveled low.

And now, though nigh four thousand years

Have rolled along, and with them smiles and tears,

At times, in the depths of that lovely sea,

The crumbling palaces still we may see;

But the weeds over column and capital climb,

The gloss of the marble is hidden with slime,

And their former tenants have passed away,

And their beauty is gone forever and aye!

A spell of gloom is on the strand,

The haggard rocks, the desert sand,

And the dry and barren sod;

A mighty voice the place has banned,

A mighty breath the ruin fanned,

A mighty curse is on the land—

The voice, the breath, the curse of God!

“Tabitha”

19 June 1838