ked to
the continent only by a narrow _chaussee_ of shining sand,
borne hither by the winds of Egypt. Tyre, now called Sour by
the Arabs, is situated at the extremity of this peninsula, and
seems, at a distance, to rise out of the waves. The modern
town, at first sight, has a gay and smiling appearance; but a
nearer approach dispels the illusion, and exhibits only a few
hundred crumbling and half-deserted houses, where the Arabs, in
the evening, assemble to shelter their flocks which have
browsed in the narrow plain. Such is all that now remains of
the mighty Tyre. It has neither a harbour to the sea, nor a
road to the land; the prophecies have long been accomplished in
regard to it.

"We moved on in silence, buried in the contemplation of the
dust of an empire which we trod. We followed a path in the
middle of the plain of Tyre, between the town and the hills of
grey and naked rock which Lebanon has thrown down towards the
sea. We arrived abreast of the city, and touched a mound of
sand which appears the sole remaining rampart to prevent it
from being overwhelmed by the waves of the ocean or the desert.
I thought of the prophecies, and called to mind some of the
eloquent denunciations of Ezekiel. As I was making these
reflections, some objects, black, gigantic, and motionless,
appeared upon the summit of one of the overhanging cliffs of
Lebanon, which there advanced far into the plain. They
resembled five black statues, placed on a rock as their huge
pedestal. At first we thought it was five Bedouins, who were
there stationed to fire upon us from their inaccessible
heights; but when we were at the distance of fifty yards, we
beheld one of them open its enormous wings, and flap them
against its sides with a sound like the unfurling of a sail. We
then perceived that they were five eagles of the largest
species I have ever seen, either in the Alps or our museums.
They made no attempt to move when we approached; they seemed to
regard themselves as kings of the desert, looked on Tyre as an
appanage which belonged to them, and whither they were about to
return. Nothing more supernatural ever met my eyes; I could
almost suppose that behind them I saw the terrible figure of
Ezekiel, the poet of vengeance, pointing to the devoted city