A MEETING OF MAGICIANS by GEORGE CROLY

IN my own land, and hunting through the hills
I've sat from eve to sunrise, in the caves
Of Atlas, circled by the altar-fires
Of black enchanters, men who yearly came,
By compact, to hold solemn festival:
Some riding fiery dragons, some on shafts
Of the sunn'd topaz, some on ostrich plumes,
Or wondrous cars, that press'd the subtle air,
No heavier than its clouds, -- some in swift barks,
That lit the Libyan Sea through night and storm,
Like wing'd volcanoes; from all zones of the earth,
From the mysterious fountains of the Nile,
Gold-sanded Niger, India's diamond shore,
From silken China, -- from the Spicy Isles,
Like incense-urns set in the purple sea
By Taprobane.

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