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Updated: May 27, 2025
On dim Cithaeron's ridge appears The gleam of twice ten thousand spears; And downward to the Isthmian plain, From shore to shore of either main, The tent is pitched, the crescent shines Along the Moslem's leaguering lines; And the dusk Spae'hi's bands advance Beneath each bearded pae'sha's glance; And far and wide as eye can reach The turbaned cohorts throng the beach; And there the Arab's camel kneels, And there his steed the Tartar wheels; The Turcoman has left his herd, The sabre round his loins to gird; And there the volleying thunders pour, Till waves grow smoother to the roar.
A vacant, deathlike, fearful silence reigns On every side around the lonely palace, So wont to ring with wild bacchantic shouts No breath is stirring on Cithaeron's height Exulting Juno stands. Will Semele Never again make haste to meet her Zeus? Can yon impious one perchance have dared To set her foot in my love's sanctuary? Saturnia Mount Cithaeron her rejoicings Fearful foreboding!
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