Of a white figure in the twilight air, Gazing intent, as one who with surprise His form and features seemed to recognize; And in a whisper to the king he said : "What is yon shape, that, pallid as the dead, Is watching me, as if he sought to trace In the dim light the features of my face?" The king looked, and replied: "I know him well; It is the Angel men call Azrael, 'Tis the Death Angel; what hast thou to fear?" And the guest answered: "Lest he should come near, And speak to me, and take away my breath! Save me from Azrael, save me from death! O king, that hast dominion o'er the wind, Bid it arise and bear me hence to Ind." The king gazed upward at the cloudless sky, Whispered a word, and raised his hand on high, And lo! the signet-ring of chrysoprase On his uplifted finger seemed to blaze With hidden fire, and rushing from the west There came a mighty wind, and seized the guest And lifted him from earth, and on they passed, His shining garments streaming in the blast, A silken banner o'er the walls upreared, A purple cloud, that gleamed and disappeared. Then said the Angel, smiling: "If this man Be Rajah Runjeet-Sing of Hindostan, Thou hast done well in listening to his prayer; I was upon my way to seek him there." INTERLUDE. "O EDREHI, forbear to-night Thus the Sicilian said; then went "Not so," the eager Poet said; "It is a tale of Charlemagne, With lightning flaming through its showers, He swept across the Lombard plain, |