THE COURT OF THE PROFANE. 19 
Anon, and I am driven out 
 In desert places by desire ; 
My mouth is salt and dry ;  I doubt 
 If hell hath such another fire ; 
If God’s damnation can devise 
A lust to match these agonies. 
 
The desert wind my body burns, 
 The voice of flesh consumes my soul ; 
My body towards the city turns, 
 My spirit seeks its fierier goal ; 
In wells of heaven to quench my thirst, 
And take God’s hand among the first. 
 
I conquered self, I grew at last 
 A prophet chosen of the Lord ; 
I blew the trumpet’s iron blast 
 That called on Zimri Omri’s sword ; 
My voice inflamed the fiery steel 
That was to smite upon Jezreel. 
 
And now, I haste from yonder sands, 
 With fervour filled, to say God’s doom 
To Ahab of the bloody hands, 
 The spoiler of his father’s tomb, 
The slayer of the vineyard king. 
God’s judgment, and his fate, I bring. 
 
The city gleams afar, I see 
 Samarina’s white walls on high ;