Chapter 6

And pity 'twas not darker than it was, And crammed with terrors populous as Hel's Or that cursed dome of corpses, Naastrand dire, Whose roofs and walls of yawning serpents slick Hang writhing down, flat heads--reed-beds of snakes-- From whose red, hissing fangs flow slimy streams Of blist'ring venom, gath'ring to a flood, Wherein the basest shades eternal wade And feel the anguish crawling down the neck, Or glue the hair, or glut the dull, dead ear, Or choke the blasted eye until it swims In lurid pain and blazes 'gainst the source. The roar of waters and the wail of pines When whirlwinds roll the granite bowlders down From flinty crags of storm to bellowing seas-- On noisome winds the howls of torture roll, And rising die, cause the live dome to writhe, And swift pour down a tempest steep of woe.

Huge Skade, of Winter daughter, giantess, One twisting serpent hung above Loke's head, So that the blistering slaver might splash down Upon his chalky face, and torture him,-- For so the Asas willed for his vast crimes.

But Loke's wife, Sigin, endured not this, And brooked not to behold her husband's pain. She sate herself beside his writhen limbs, And held a cup to cull the venomed dew Which flamed the scowling blackness as it fell. To him she spake, who swelled his breast and groaned E'en as some mighty sea, when 'neath its waves The huge leviathan by whalers chased,-- Cleaving thick waters in his spinning flight, The barbèd harpoon feasting on his life,-- Rolls up pale mounded billows o'er black fins Far in the North Atlantic's sounding seas:--

"O Loke! lock those wide-drawn eyes of thine, And let white silver-lidded slumber fall In the soft utterance of my low speech! And I will flutter all my amber curls To cast wind currents o'er thy pallid brow!-- Drink deepest sleep, for, see, I catch thy doom!-- So pale thy face which glimmers thro' the night! So pale! and knew I death as mortals know I'd say that he mysterious had on thee Laid hands of talons and so slain thy soul! So still! and all the night bears down my heart! So pale!--and sleep is lost to thee and me!-- Sleep, that were welcome in this heavy gloom!-- It clings to me like pestilential fogs! I seem but clodded filth and float in filth! It chokes my words and claws them from my tongue To sound as dull confusèd as the boom Heard thro' the stagnant earth when armies meet With ring of war-ax on the brazen helms, And all the mountains clash unto the sound Of shocking spears that splinter on gray ore! For by dead banks of stone my words are yelled While yet they touch the tongue to grasp the thought; And all the creatures huddled in their holes Creep forth to glare and hiss them back again! Yet, for thy love, O Loke, could I brave All trebled horrors that wise Odin may Heap on, and, suff'ring, love thee all the more!

"For thou dost love me, and this life is naught Without thy majesty of form and mind, For, dark to all, alone art fair to me! And to thy level and thy passions all I raise the puny hillock of my soul, Tho' oft it droops below thy lofty height, Far 'mid the crimson clouds of windless dawns Reaching the ruby of a glorious crest. And then aspire I not, but cower in awe Down 'mid low, printless winds that take no morn.--

"At least my countenance may win from thee A reflex of that alabaster cold That stones thy brow, and pale in kindred woe! And when this stony brow of thine is cleft By myriad furrows, tortures of slow Time, And all the beauties of thy locks are past, Now glossy as the brown seal's velvet fur, Their drifts of winter strown around this cave To gray the glutton gloom that hangs like lead,-- For Idunn's fruit is now debarred thy lips, And thou shalt age e'en as I age with thee!-- Then will the thought of that dread twilight cheer The burthen of thy anguish; for wilt thou Not in the great annihilation aid Of gods and worlds, that roll thro' misty grooves Of cycled ages to wild Ragnaroke? Then shalt thou joy! for all those stars which glue Their blinking scales unto old Ymer's skull In clots shall fall! and as this brooding night Sticks to and gluts us till we strangling clutch With purple lips for air--and feel but frost Drag laboring down the throat to swell the freight That cuddles to the heart and clogs its life, So shall those falling flakes spread sea-like far In lakes of flame and foggy pestilence O'er the hot earth, and drown all men and gods.

"But, oh, thy face! pale, pale its marble gleams Thro' the thick night! and low the serpent wreathes And twists his scaly coils that livid hang Above thee alabaster as a shrine!-- Oh, could I kiss the lips toward which he writhes And yield them the last spark of living flame That burns in my wan blood, and, yielding--die! Oh, could I gaze once more into large eyes Whose liquid depths glassed domes of molten stars, And see them as they glowed when Morning danced O'er scattered flowers from the rosy hills That lined the orient skies beneath one star! When first we met and loved among the pines, The melancholy pines that plumed the cliffs And rocked and sang unto the smooth fiords Like old wild women to their sleeping babes! Then could I die e'en as the mortals die, And smile in dying!--But the reptile baulks All effort to behold, or on white lips To feast the ardor of my vain desire! Thy face alone shines on my straining sight Like some dim moon beneath a night of mist,-- And now the creatures come to feel at me-- The serpent swings above and darts his fang, And I can naught but hold the cup and breathe."

Then thro' the blackness of the dripping cave Tumultuous spake he, rage his utterance; Large as the thunder when it lunging rolls, Heavy with earthquake and portending ruin, Tempestuous words o'er everlasting seas Dumb with the silence of eternal ice; His eyes in horrid spasms, and his throat, Corded and gnarled with veins of boisterous blood, Swollen with fury, and stern, wintery lips Flaked with rebellious foam and agony For thwarted rage and baulkment of designs. Rash vaunter of loud wrath, one brawny fist, Convulsed with clenchment in its gyve of ore, Clutched mad defiance and bold blasphemy, Headlong for battle-launching at all gods That bow meek necks before high Odin's throne; Yet all unhurled and vain as mists of morn, Or foam wind-wasted on the sterile sands Of rainy seas where Ran, from whistling caves Watching the tempest ravened dragon wreck, Feels 'twixt lean miser fingers slippery Already oily gold of Vikings' drowned. Reverberated, the loud-scoffing rock All his unburdened blasphemies again Flung back a million fold from riotous throats In which demoniac laughter howled and roared, Bellowing tremendous tumult, till his ears, Flooded and gorged with maniac curses, grew Stunned, deaf and senseless, and the rebel words, Erst rolled and thundered in his godly speech, Recoiled in oaths that, shrunk in serpent loops, Coiled mad anathemas of violence, Voluminous-ringed, about his heart of ice, That now in wasted wrath of bitter foam,-- Which burst and bare big ineffectual groans, Wretched and huge with infinite weariness,-- Spent all its storm of ponderous misery.

Her sorrow found some vent in rain of tears, And all the cave was dumb and dead with night, Unbroken save of Sigin's heaving sobs, Or the baulked god's deep groans where chain'd he lay To see the spotted serpent crisp above And aye gape poison at his lidless eyes.

And when her bowl was brimmed till one more drop Had cast the fifth white o'er the scorching edge, Into the black, deep flood beside she poured Its stagnant torture; one second's tithe the time-- The reptile's bale blurs all his milky cheek, Burns to his bones; he starting fell, stiff twists The sinewy steel that hugs his massive limbs And shrieks so loud within those solitudes, The caverns yawn unto the stormy skies, The orey mountains rock and groan for fear, High spew their fiery thunders, smoke, and stones.

And this all in a mist-land dim and numb, Where giants reign, rude kings in holds of ice Based crag-like on high vivid frozen cliffs, The bandit castles of the Northern wastes. Beneath the shimmering dance of Arctic lights, Which lamp them on, they storm to fight the gods; Swathed in their stubborn mail of sleet and snow, Embattled 'mid the clouds with fiends of ruin, In militant throng-legions scorn the gods; From yawning trumpets wrought of whirling clouds Snarl war to Thor, who, in his goat-dragged wain, Hurls thundering forth to fight their lowering troops, That lift black 'scutcheons of tempests orbed, Great brands of wind, and slings of whistling storm, From which are flung their hurricanes of hail. With such they oft withstand the strength of Thor's Dwarf-stithied mace, Mjolner, when he rings To find admittance to their brains of mist, And, cleaving, drives them to their barren realms, Where echoes of lost wars and wars to be Rumble 'mid ruined icebergs to the caves, Or clang with northern shock of icy spears; While Balder, from the abyss of deathful fogs Restored, smiles kindlier on the whit'ning lands.

Here Loke is doomed to lie in tortures chained Until that last dread twilight of the gods, Wild Ragnaroke, when Odin's self shall pass: The moon and sun consumed, the fiery host From Muspelheim shall flaming split the heavens, Blot out the stars with lustre of their arms; And down the squarèd legions led by Surt Swift whirl in fogs of flame to war with gods; Nor Thor avail, but suffocated fall In contest with the Midgard serpent vast. All men and gods abolished with the world, Which into an abyss of fume and flame Sinks like a meteor of the Summer night, That slides into the gold of burning eve And with eve's gold is burning, blent and lost. But, like an exhalation, from the wreck A new and lovelier world with juster gods And better men shall rise, and soar away On wings of Love thro' skies where Truth displays The glory of her form, Wisdom her eyes.-- Behold! the Golden Age again returns!

SEA DREAMS.

I.

Oh, to see in the night in a May moon's light A nymph from siren caves, With a crown of pearl, sea-gems in each curl Dance down white, star-stained waves! Oh, to list in the gloam by the pearly foam Of a sad, far-sounding shore The strain of the shell of an ocean belle From caves where the waters roar! With a hollow shell drift up in the moon To sigh in my ears this ocean tune:--

II.

"Wilt follow, wilt follow to caverns hollow, That echo the tumbling spry? Wilt follow thy queen to islands green, Vague islands of witchery? O follow, follow to grottoes hollow, And isles in a purple sea, Where rich roses twine and the lush woodbine Weaves a musky canopy!"

III.

Oh, to float in the gloam on the bubbly foam With her lily face above! Oh, to lie in a barque and a wild song hark, And a billow-nymph to love! I'd lie at her feet and my heart should beat To the music of her sighs; But the stars in her face my passion should trace, Unseen all the stars of the skies.

IV.

Away, away with the witch of spray To her Aidenn islands far; And the blue above, drunk-mad with love, Dance down each singing star. Leave, leave to the heaven its morning star In a cloud of bolted snow, To laugh at the world and herald far Our wedlock and joy below.

III.--IN THE GARDENS OF FALERINA.

FALERINA.

The night is hung above us, love, With heavy stars that love us, love, With clouds that curl in purple and pearl, And winds that whisper of us, love: On burly hills and valleys, that lie dimmer, The amber foot-falls of the moon-sylphs glimmer.

The moon is still a crescent, love; And here with thee 'tis pleasant, love, To sit and dream in its thin gleam, And list thy sighs liquescent, love: To see thy eyes and fondle thy dark tresses, Set on warm lips imperishable kisses.

The sudden-glaring fire-flies Swim o'er the hollow gyre-wise, And spurt and shine like jostled wine At lips on which desire lies: Or like the out-flashed hair of elf or fairy In rapid morrice whirling feat and airy.

Up,--all the blue West sundering,-- A creamy cloud comes blundering O'er star and steep, and opening deep Grows gold with silent thundering: Gold flooding crystal crags immeasurable, Lost Avalons of old Romance and Fable.

The bee dreams in the cherry bloom That sways above the berry bloom; The katydid grates where she's hid In leafy deeps of dreary gloom: The forming dew is globing on the grasses, Like rich spilled gems of some dark queen that passes.

The mere brief gusts are wrinkling; A thousand ripples twinkling Have caught the stars on polished spars Their rustling ridges sprinkling: And all the shadow lurking in its bosom Is touched and bursten into golden blossom.

Stoop! and my being flatter, love; With sudden starlight scatter, love, From the starry grace of thy rare face, Whose might can make or shatter, love! Come, raiment love in love's own radiant garments. And kindle all my soul to rapturous torments!

Bow all thy beauty to me, love, Lips, eyes, and hair to woo me, love, As bows and blows some satin rose Snow-soft and tame, that knew thee, love. Unto the common grass, that worshiping cowers, Dowering its love with all her musk of flowers.

THE DREAM.

My dream was such: It seemed the afternoon Of some deep tropic day, and yet a moon Stood round and full with largeness of white gleams High in a Heaven that knew not a sun's beams; A vast, still Heaven of unremembered dreams. Long, lawny lengths of perishable cloud Hung in a West o'er rolling forests bowed; Clouds raining colors, gold and violet That, opening, seemed from hidden worlds to let Down hints of mystic beauty and old charms Wrought of frail creatures fair with silvery forms. And all about me fruited orchards grew Of quince and peach and dusty plums of blue; Wan apricots and apples red with fire, Kissed into ripeness by some sun's desire, And big with juice; and on far, fading hills, Down which it seemed a hundred torrent rills Flashed leaping silver, vines and vines and vines Of purple vintage swollen with cool wines; Pale pleasant wines and fragrant as the June, Their delicate life robbed from the foam-fair moon. And from the clouds o'er this sweet world there dripp'd An odorous music strange and feverish lipped, That swung and swooned and panted in mad sighs, Invoking at each wave sad rapturous eyes Of limpid, willowy beings fair as night, Decked spangly with crisp flower-like stars of white; Dim honeyed booming of the boisterous bee In purple myriads of faint fleurs-de-lis; Of surf far-foaming on forgotten strands Of immemorial seas in fairy lands Of melting passion, who, with crimson lips Of many shells laid to each swell that dips, Sigh secret hope of unrequited love In murmurous language to wan winds above.

HAWKING.

I.

I see them still, when poring o'er Old volumes of romantic lore, Ride forth to hawk in days of yore, By woods and promontories; Knights in gold lace, plumes and gems, Maidens crowned with anadems,-- Whose falcons on round wrists of milk Sit in jesses green of silk,-- From bannered Miraflores.

II.

The laughing earth is young with dew; The deeps above are violet blue; And in the East a cloud or two Empearled with airy glories: And with laughter, jest and singing, Silver bells of falcons ringing, Hawkers, rosy with the dawn, Gayly ride o'er hill and lawn From courtly Miraflores.

III.

The torrents silver down the crags; Down dim-green vistas browse the stags; And from wet beds of reeds and flags The frightened lapwing hurries; And the brawny wild-boar peereth At the cavalcade that neareth; Oft his shaggy-throated grunt Brings the king and court to hunt At royal Miraflores.

IV.

The May itself in soft sea-green Is Oriana, Spring's high queen, And Amadis beside her seen Some prince of Fairy stones: Where her castle's ivied towers Drowse above her budded bowers, Flaps the heron thro' the sky, And the wild swan gives a cry By woody Miraflores.

LA BEALE ISOUD.

I.

With bloodshot eyes the morning rose Upon a world of gloom and tears; A kindred glance queen Isoud shows-- Come night, come morn, cease not her fears. The fog-clouds whiten all the vale, The sunlight draws them to its love; The diamond dews wash ev'ry dale, Where bays the hunt within the grove. Her lute--the one her touch he taught To wake beneath the stars a song Of swan-caught music--is as naught And on yon damask lounge is flung. Down o'er her cheeks her hair she draws In golden rays 'twixt lily tips, And gazes sad on gloomy shaws 'Neath which had often touched their lips.

II.

With irised eyes, from morn to noon. And noon to middle night she stoops From her high lattice 'neath the moon, Hoping to see him 'mid the groups Of mail-swathed braves come jingling by. And once there came a dame in weft All pearl besprent, as when the sky A springtide day hath wept and left A stormy eve one flash of gems. "'Mid neatherds he's a naked waif Unwitted," said she, lipping scorn: And shook deep curls with a weak laugh Tib clinked the gold thick in them worn.

III.

"How long to wait!" and far she bent From her tall casement toward the lawn; A prospect of a wide extent Glassed in her eyes and hateful shown. Along the white lake windy crags Blue with coarse brakes and ragged pines; A bandit keep with trembling flags; And barren scars, and waste marsh lines, And now a palfried dame and knight. Deep deer-behaunted forests old, Whose sinewy boughs dark blocked the cave Of Heav'n o'er Earth; a blasted hold 'Mid livid fields; a torrent's wave. And o'er the bridge whose marble arched The torrent's foam, dim in the dew Of morning, one all glimmering marched In glittering steel from helm to shoe, With lance whose fang smote back the dawn.

IV.

Selled on a barb whose trappings shone Red brass,--a morning star of jousts Upon the dawning beaming lone Burst from the hills' empurpled crusts. A lying star, whose double tongue Was slave to gold: "I saw him die!-- 'Tis ruth, for he was brave and young,-- I saw him in the close clay lie." Then passed he rattling from the court.... So grief in furrows ploughed her front's Smooth surface wan, and toward the eve,-- The bloodshot eve upon the mounts, Who o'er day's flow'ry bier did grieve And bow her melancholy star,-- O'er teenful eyes she bent the light Of her crown-crescent's gem, and far She lingered till the full-mooned night Showered ripple-stars the gray mere o'er.

V.

"And I'm like her who trims a flame Of sickly color, bowing low To balk the wind; in wanton game One stoops in secret toward her brow With wind-bulged cheeks, a quick breath sends-- And then the world is blind with gloom, And filled with phantoms and with fiends, That strain huge eyes and jibe her doom." Thus thought Isoud in her despair, Of Launcelot then thoughts grew on, And Arthur's lovely queen away In castled courts of Caerleon, And all their joy and dalliance gay. Until she could have thawed the spars Of her clear-fountained eyes to tears, And gush wild grief long-seared by wars Of passionate anguish and great fears: "Oh Tristram gone! oh death in life!" Soft down below in the thick dark A fountain throbbed monotonous foam, Unseen within the starlit park, Deep in the tower's shadowed dome. "And thus my heart drums frigid life In hateful gloom of fear and woe! One flood of sorrow, cataract-rife, My full-flush heart streams come and go Since Tristram's gone and I'm alone!"

VI.

Then sunk the moon, and far away, Beside the bickering lake, the towers Of bandit braves shone tall and gray, Like specters in her lonely hours. And 'twixt the nodding grove and lake A glimmering fawn stalked thro' the night; And with full brow the musks did take, Then bowed to drink--she veiled her sight And moaning said, "Death is but life! The fawn 'mid lilies from the mere Sucks genial draughts to dull its thirsts; O fondest spirit, art thou near? Draw to thy soul this soul that bursts! The vivid lilies to the stars Clasp their white eyes and sink to sleep: O anguish, to thy burning wars Lock my sad heart and drag it deep!"-- Albeit she slept, she dreamed in grief.

BELTENEBROS AT MIRAFLORES.

I.

The quickening East climbs to yon star, That, cradled, rocks herself in morn; The liquid silver broad'ning far Dawn drencheth cliff, holt, down and tarn. The trembling splendors gild the sky, Breath'd from her tawny champion's lips; The clear green dews above me lie, Their lustre the dark eyelash tips Of Oriana sitting by.

The crested cock 'mid his stout dames Crows from the purple-clover hill; His glossy coat the morn enflames, And all his leaping heart doth thrill. His curving tail sickles the plume That rosy nods against his eye. Laughs from deep beds of twinkling bloom The lilied East when wand'reth nigh My Oriana in the gloom.

The rooks swarm clatt'ring 'round the tow'rs; The falcon jingles in the air; The bursting dawn around him show'rs A clinging glory of wan glare. From the green knoll the shouting hunt With swollen cheeks clangs his alarms; Mayhap I hear the bristler's grunt: But where my Oriana charms The wood, hushed is its ev'ry haunt.

The willowed lake is cool with cloud Breaking and dimming into shreds, Which gauze the azure, thinly crowd The mist-pink West with hazy threads. A wild swan ruffles o'er the mere Soft as the drifting of a soul; A double swan she doth appear In mirage fixed 'twixt pole and pole When Oriana singeth near.

II.

Spring high into the shuddering stars, O florid sunset, burning gold! Flash on our eyeballs lurid bars To beam them with air-fires cold! The blowing dingles soak with light, The purple coppice hang with blaze; But where we stand a meeker white Bloom on us thro' the hill's soft haze, For Oriana stars the night!