Rushed like a man insane, and wandered alone by the sea-side; Paced up and down the sands, and bared his head to the cast wind, Glimmered the golden reed of the angel who measured the city. "Welcome, O wind of the East!" he exclaimed in his wild exultation, "Welcome, O wind of the East, from the caves of the misty Atlantic! Blowing o'er fields of dulse, and measureless meadows of sea-grass, Blowing o'er rocky wastes, and the grottos and gardens of ocean! Lay thy cold, moist hand on my burning forehead, and wrap me Close in thy garments of mist, to allay the fever within me!" Like an awakened conscience, the sea was moaning and tossing, Is it my fault that he failed,—my fault that I am the victor?” "It hath displeased the Lord! It is the temptation of Satan!" |