By some immortal hand in immemorial ages,

Led us slowly onward.

The dappled pard-skins, slung across their shoulders,

Scarcely hid the ox-like thews,

Beneath the dark skin rippling,

As they strode along before us.

Through courts of alabaster,

And painted corridors,

And chambers fair with flowery tapestries

They led us, wondering, till at last we came

Into a vast, dim hall of glimmering gold,

The end of all our journeying.

And, as we halted on the threshold,

My eyes could see but little for a moment,

In the dusky, heavy air,

Through the ceaseless cloud of incense,

Rising from the smouldering braziers

To the gold, grey-clouded dome,

Tingling strangely in my nostrils,

As I came from morning airs;

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