No moon, eclipsed in Egypt's skies, looked half so lone.

But from out that darkness, on the loftiest peak, Bello's standard waved.
"Oh rifled tomb!" cried Babbalanja.

"Wherein lay the Mars and Moloch of our times, whose constellated crown, was gemmed with diadems.

Thou god of war! who didst seem the devouring Beast of the Apocalypse; casting so vast a shadow over Mardi, that yet it lingers in old Franko's vale; where still they start at thy tremendous ghost; and, late, have hailed a phantom, King! Almighty hero-spell! that after the lapse of half a century, can so bewitch all hearts! But one drop of hero-blood will deify a fool.
"Franko! thou wouldst be free; yet thy free homage is to the buried ashes of a King; thy first choice, the exaltation of his race.

In furious fires, thou burn'st Ludwig's throne; and over thy new-made chieftain's portal, in golden letters print'st--'The Palace of our Lord!' In thy New Dispensation, thou cleavest to the exploded Law.