But, the sudden crack of whips,

Startling him, he snarled;

And turned with lashing tail,

Crashing through dense brushwood.

When, once, again we came unto a clearing,

The night was near its noon:

And all the vales that lay before us

Were filled with moving, moonlit mists,

That seemed phantasmal waters

Of that enchanted world,

Where we, in dreams, sail over still lagoons,

Throughout eternal night,

And under unknown stars.

Still, on we fared, unresting,

Until the low moon paled;

When, halting on a mountain-spur,

We first looked down on Babylon,

Far in the dreaming West,

A cluster of dim towers,

Scarce visible to wearied eyes.

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