Land of the pyramid ! land of the palm !
Fanning us now with thy breezes of balm,
Lovely thou art, and yet stranger than fair !
Glamour is with thee, and whoso shall dare
Look on thy beauty will know never more
Rest, till the throb of his last pulse is o'er !*
Long since thy vassals, why shudder we then,
Feeling thy breath on our foreheads again ?
Angels of God ! that in nightly patrol
Wheel round our planet from pole unto pole,
Hovering now o'er yon desolate isle,
Now where the date-groves of Barbary smile,
* Niemand wandelt unter Palmen ungestraft.