Where heaven's arch of flaming ether
Sahara clasps in close embrace,
Till 'twixt upper fires and nether
Scarce the doubtful line you trace,
Mark yon lurid cloudlet swinging,
Rolling, eddying, thickening fast,
Broken sand-wreaths wildly flinging
Out upon the stifling blast !
Is it then the robe that drapeth
Samiel in its burning fold,
And which thus he madly shapeth
To his form of fearful mould ?
Or the lightning's dread pavilion