And they plunged in the cavern which ocean had

made;

Nor mountains nor billows their swift course de

lay'd:

But there was one courser far whiter than snow;

His rider was fairer than aught else below;

And a black horse rush'd from the raging fire;

His loud piercing shrieks rent the scorching air;

And the rider's crest was a sheet of flame,
And of crimson fire was the charger's mane.
The jet-black horse near'd the snow-white steed,
Which fled with dismay, but vain was its speed:
Both valley and mountain they left behind;

Far swifter they went than the roaring wind:

The race was run,

The prize was won,

B

And the white horse fell from the rocky cliff,

And sunk in the waves which roll'd beneath;
But he snatch'd the fair from the falling horse,
Who feebly struggled, but vain was her force :

The steed and the rider gave one piercing cry,

Which rung through the mountains, and sounded on

high.

Then onward they swept, conceal'd in flame :

Naught to be seen till they reach'd the main :

Again the ocean did open wide,

To sweep them all 'neath her raging tide.

Now the altar stone was freed from fire,

And look'd as white as naught had been there :

But he drew his sword which was made of flame,

And he struck the altar again and again.

The altar rent, and from out that gash

A fiery dragon its eyes did flash;

And the fork'd flames arose from its monstrous head,

Dash'd through the fierce seas till they reach'd ocean's

bed.

The horse and its riders rose in the air,

As if to escape from the raging fire;

And they sunk again, and ocean blazed;

But all was gone, and vainly I gazed.

I felt the rock beneath me shake,

And felt the earth around me quake :

The flaming waves had dash'd the shore,

And mingling fire and waters roar :

And vainly I hoped to end my life,

And die 'midst the waves' and fierce flames' strife.

Some unknown hand then bore me away;

Saved me from death on that dreadful day :

But my life must be spent in torments and pain,

Till death from these tortures does loose me again :

I tremble to live, but I fear not to die;

Dread not the last struggle, nor death's agony.

Dark grows the night, as I pass along;

Bleak blows the wind, and loud sounds the storm :

I have not a home where to rest my head,

And the cold damp earth is my only bed.

SAREPTA.