Flooding the dreaming plain that lay before us,

Vast, limitless, bewildering,

And strange to mountain-eyes.

As down the slope we went,

And when, at last, we left behind

The hills and singing waters,

A vague, oppressive fear

Of those dim, silent leagues of level land,

Fell on me; and I almost seemed

To bear upon my shoulders

The vaster dome of overwhelming night;

And, trembling like a child,

I looked askance at my two captors,

As they rode on in heedless silence,

Their swarthy faces sharp

Against the lucent sky.

And then, once more,

The old, familiar watchfires of the stars

Brought courage to my bosom;

And the young moon's brilliant horn

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