Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Asia: Vols. XXI–XXIII. 1876–79.
Mount Olivet
By Nicholas Michell (1807–1880)F
And view once more this sad but glorious land;
Here, lost in thought, the bard might linger long,
But we must break our dream, and close our song.
The sun with purple paints the western hills,
And earth and heaven a holy quiet fills;
Calm in her desolation Salem sleeps,
Round Omar’s mosque the tall green cypress weeps;
Soft gleam the rays on church and convent-spire,
And each slight minaret is tipped with fire:
Peace, like an angel, midst the coming gloom
O’er Calvary hangs, and wraps Messiah’s tomb.
A spell on that dim city seems to lie,
And hush the hills around, and crimson sky;
It is not age or mystery or despair,
It is not death which casts a shadow there,
But sadness for a blighted, fallen race,
A once proud nation that has lost its place,—
A sorrow that invests each ancient spot,
By feeling reverenced, memory ne’er forgot,
And as we muse and think of brighter years,
The eye still gazes on, and fills with tears.