And set on her neck a golden chain-
Spoil of her sire in combat slain.
Over her head her doom is said ;
And with folded arms and measured tread,
In long procession, dark and slow,
Up the terrible hill they go,
Hymning their hymn, and crying their cry,
To him, their Demon Deity.-
Mary, Mother! sain and save!
The maiden kneels at the Dragon's cave !
Alas! 't is frightful to behold
That thing of Nature's softest mould,
In whose slight shape and delicate hue
Life's loveliness shews fresh and new,
Bound on the dark hill's topmost height,
To die, and by such death, to-night!
But yester-eve, when the red sun
His race of grateful toil had run,
And o'er the earth the moon's soft rays
Lit up the hour of prayer and praise,
She bowed within the pleasant shade
By her own fragrant jasmine made ;
And while her clear and thrilling tone
Asked blessing from her Maker's throne,
The notes were echoed to her ear
From lips that were to her most dear.