16
THE LAST CONSTANTINE.
XXVI.
It was a sad and solemn task to hold
Their midnight-watch on that beleaguer'd wall!
As the sea-wave beneath the bastions roll'd,
A sound of fate was in its rise and fall!
The heavy clouds were as an empire's pall,
The giant-shadows of each tower and fane
Lay like the grave's; a low mysterious call
Breathed in the wind, and from the tented plain
XXVII.
For they might catch the Arab charger's neighing,
The Thracian drum, the Tartar's drowsy song;
Might almost hear the soldan's banner swaying,
The watch-word mutter'd in some eastern tongue.
Then flash'd the gun's terrific light along
The marble streets, all stillness—not repose;
And boding thoughts came o'er them, dark and strong;
For heaven, earth, air, speak auguries to those
