Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Asia: Vols. XXI–XXIII. 1876–79.
The Bituminous Lake
By Robert Southey (1774–1843)W
Is it the storm that shakes
The thousand oaks of the forest?
But Thalaba’s long locks
Flow down his shoulders moveless, and the wind
In his loose mantle raises not a fold.
Is it the river’s roar
Dashed down some rocky descent?
Along the level plain
Euphrates glides unheard,
What sound disturbs the night,
Loud as the summer forest in the storm,
As the river that roars among rocks?
That hangs upon the vale,
Thick as the mist o’er a well-watered plain
Settling at evening when the cooler air
Lets its day-vapors fall;
Black as the sulphur-cloud,
That through Vesuvius, or from Hecla’s mouth,
Rolls up, ascending from the infernal fires.
That heavy cloud ascends;
That everlasting roar
From where its gushing springs
Boil their black billows up.
Silent the Arabian youth,
Along the verge of that wide lake,
Followed Mohareb’s way,
Toward a ridge of rocks that banked its side.
There from a cave, with torrent force,
And everlasting roar,
The black bitumen rolled.
The moonlight lay upon the rocks;
Their crags were visible,
The shade of jutting cliffs,
And where broad lichens whitened some smooth spot,
And where the ivy hung
Its flowing tresses down.
A little way within the cave
The moonlight fell, glossing the sable tide
That gushed tumultuous out;
A little way it entered, then the rock
Arching its entrance, and the winding way,
Darkened the unseen depths.
If unenabled by enchanted spell,
Had pierced those fearful depths;
For mingling with the roar
Of the portentous torrent, oft were heard
Shrieks, and wild yells that scared
The brooding Eagle from her midnight nest.
The affrighted countrymen
Call it the Mouth of Hell;
And ever when their way leads near,
They hurry with averted eyes,
And dropping their beads fast,
Pronounce the Holy Name.