An Indian Temple

There too, with awful rites, the hoary priest,
Without, beside the moss-grown altar stood,
(His sable form in magic cincture dress'd,)
And heap'd the mingled offering to his god.
What time with golden light calm evening glow'd,
The mystic dust, the flower of silver bloom
And spicy herb, his hand in order strew'd;
Bright rose the curling flame, and rich perfume
On smoky wings upflew or settled round the tomb.
Then o'er the circus danced the maddening throng
As erst the Thyas roam'd dread Nysa round,
And struck to forest notes the ecstatic song,
While slow beneath them heaved the wavy ground.
With a low, lingering groan of dying sound,
The woodland rumbled; murmur 'd deep each stream;
Shrill sung the leaves; the ether sigh'd profound;
Pale tufts of purple topp'd the silver flame,
And many-colour' d forms on evening breezes came:
Thin, twilight forms, attired in changing sheen
Of plumes, high-tinctured in the western ray —
Bending, they peep'd the fleecy folds between,
Their wings light-rustling in the breath of May;
Soft-hovering round the fire in mystic play,
They snuff'd the incense waved in clouds afar,
Then silent floated toward the setting day;
Eve redden'd each fine form, each misty car,
And through them faintly gleam'd, at times, the western star.
Then — so tradition sings — the train behind,
In plumy zones of rainbow beauty dress'd,
Rode the Great Spirit, in the obedient wind,
In yellow clouds slow-sailing from the west.
With dawning smiles the god his votaries blest,
And taught where deer retired to ivy dell;
What chosen chief with proud command t' invest;
Where crept the approaching foe, with purpose fell,
And where to wind the scout, and war's dark storm dispel.
There, on her lover's tomb in silence laid,
While still and sorrowing shower'd the moon's pale beam,
At times expectant, slept the widow'd maid,
Her soul far-wandering on the sylph- wing'd dream.
Wafted from evening skies on sunny stream,
Her darling youth with silver pinions shone;
With voice of music, tuned to sweetest theme,
He told of shell-bright bowers beyond the sun,
Where years of endless joy o'er Indian lovers run.