A lance he bore, and underneath one arm
  A stone, and in the opposite hand a shell
  Of a surpassing brightness.  At the sight 80
  Much I rejoiced, not doubting but a guide
  Was present, one who with unerring skill
  Would through the desert lead me; and while yet
  I looked and looked, self-questioned what this freight
  Which the new-comer carried through the waste 85
  Could mean, the Arab told me that the stone
  (To give it in the language of the dream)
  Was “Euclid’s Elements;” and “This,” said he,
  “Is something of more worth;” and at the word
  Stretched forth the shell, so beautiful in shape, 90
  In colour so resplendent, with command
  That I should hold it to my ear.  I did so,
  And heard that instant in an unknown tongue,
  Which yet I understood, articulate sounds,
  A loud prophetic blast of harmony; 95
  An Ode, in passion uttered, which foretold
  Destruction to the children of the earth
  By deluge, now at hand.  No sooner ceased
  The song, than the Arab with calm look declared
  That all would come to pass of which the voice 100
  Had given forewarning, and that he himself
  Was going then to bury those two books: 
  The one that held acquaintance with the stars,
  And wedded soul to soul in purest bond
  Of reason, undisturbed by space or time; 105
  The other that was a god, yea many gods,
  Had voices more than all the winds, with power
  To exhilarate the spirit, and to soothe,
  Through every clime, the heart of human kind. 
  While this was uttering, strange as it may seem, 110
  I wondered not, although I plainly saw
  The one to be a stone, the other a shell;
  Nor doubted once but that they both were books,
  Having a perfect faith in all that passed. 
  Far stronger, now, grew the desire I felt 115
  To cleave unto this man; but when I prayed
  To share his enterprise, he hurried on
  Reckless of me:  I followed, not unseen,
  For oftentimes he cast a backward look,
  Grasping his twofold treasure.—­Lance in rest, 120
  He rode, I keeping pace with him; and now
  He, to my fancy, had become the knight
  Whose tale Cervantes tells; yet not the knight,
  But was an Arab of the desert too;
  Of these was neither, and was both at once. 125
  His countenance, meanwhile, grew more disturbed;
  And, looking backwards when he looked, mine eyes
  Saw, over half the wilderness diffused,
  A bed of glittering light:  I asked the cause: 
  “It is,” said he, “the waters of the deep 130
  Gathering upon us;” quickening then the pace
  Of the unwieldy creature he bestrode,