Myth and Romance | Page 8

her looks were full of spells,?And all her words of sorcery;?And in some way they seemed to say
"Oh, come with me!
"Oh, come with me! oh, come with me!?Oh, come with me, my love, Sir Kay!"--?How should he know the witch, I trow,
Morgan le Fay?
How should he know the wily witch,?With sweet white face and raven hair??Who by her art bewitched his heart
And held him there.
For soul and sense had waxed amort?To wold and weald, to slade and stream;?And all he heard was her soft word
As one adream.
And all he saw was her bright eyes,?And her fair face that held him still;?And wild and wan she led him on
O'er vale and hill.
Until at last a castle lay?Beneath the moon, among the trees;?Its Gothic towers old and gray
With mysteries.
Tall in its hall an hundred knights?In armor stood with glaive in hand;?The following of some great King,
Lord of that land.
Sir Bors, Sir Balin, and Gawain,?All Arthur's knights, and many mo;?But these in battle had been slain
Long years ago.
But when Morgan with lifted hand?Moved down the hall, they louted low;?For she was Queen of Shadowland,
That woman of snow.
Then from Sir Kay she drew away,?And mocking at him by her side,--?"Behold, Sir Knights, the knave who slew
Your King," she cried.
Then like one man those shadows raised?Their swords, whereon the moon glanced gray;?And clashing all strode from the wall
Against Sir Kay.
And on his body, bent and bowed,?The hundred blades like one blade fell;?While over all rang long and loud
The mirth of Hell.
_The Dream?of Roderick_
Below, the tawny Tagus swept?Past royal gardens, breathing balm;?Upon his couch the monarch slept;?The world was still; the night was calm.
Gray, Gothic-gated, in the ray?Of moonrise, tower-and castle-crowned,?The city of Toledo lay?Beneath the terraced palace-ground.
Again, he dreamed, in kingly sport?He sought the tree-sequestered path,?And watched the ladies of his Court?Within the marble-basined bath.
Its porphyry stairs and fountained base?Shone, houried with voluptuous forms,?Where Andalusia vied in grace?With old Castile, in female charms.
And laughter, song, and water-splash?Rang round the place, with stone arcaded,?As here a breast or limb would flash?Where beauty swam or beauty waded.
And then, like Venus, from the wave?A maiden came, and stood below;?And by her side a woman slave?Bent down to dry her limbs of snow.
Then on the tesselated bank,?Robed on with fragrance and with fire,--?Like some exotic flower--she sank,?The type of all divine desire.
Then her dark curls, that sparkled wet,?She parted from her perfect brows,?And, lo, her eyes, like lamps of jet?Within an alabaster house.
And in his sleep the monarch sighed,?"Florinda!"--Dreaming still he moaned,?"Ah, would that I had died, had died!?I have atoned! I have atoned!" ...
And then the vision changed: O'erhead?Tempest and darkness were unrolled,?Full of wild voices of the dead,?And lamentations manifold.
And wandering shapes of gaunt despair?Swept by, with faces pale as pain,?Whose eyes wept blood and seemed to glare?Fierce curses on him through the rain.
And then, it seemed, 'gainst blazing skies?A necromantic tower sate,?Crag-like on crags, of giant size;?Of adamant its walls and gate.
And from the storm a hand of might?Red-rolled in thunder, reached among?The gate's huge bolts--that burst; and night?Clanged ruin as its hinges swung.
Then far away a murmur trailed,--?As of sad seas on cavern'd shores,--?That grew into a voice that wailed,?"They come! they come! the Moors! the Moors!"
And with deep boom of atabals?And crash of cymbals and wild peal?Of battle-bugles, from its walls?An army rushed in glimmering steel.
And where it trod he saw the torch?Of conflagration stalk the skies,?And in the vanward of its march?The monster form of Havoc rise.
And Paynim war-cries rent the storm,?Athwart whose firmament of flame,?Destruction reared an earthquake form?On wreck and death without a name ...
And then again the vision changed:?Where flows the Guadalete, see,?The warriors of the Cross are ranged?Against the Crescent's chivalry.
With roar of trumpets and of drums?They meet; and in the battle's van?He fights; and, towering towards him, comes?Florinda's father, Julian;
And one-eyed Taric, great in war:?And where these couch their burning spears,?The Christian phalanx, near and far,?Goes down like corn before the shears.
The Moslem wins: the Christian flies:?"Allah il Allah," hill and plain?Reverberate: the rocking skies,?"Allah il Allah," shout again.
And then he dreamed the swing of swords?And hurl of arrows were no more;?But, louder than the howling hordes,?Strange silence fell on field and shore.
And through the night, it seemed, he fled,?Upon a white steed like a star,?Across a field of endless dead,?Beneath a blood-red scimitar.
Of sunset: And he heard a moan,?Beneath, around, on every hand--?"Accurs��d! Yea, what hast thou done?To bring this curse upon thy land?"
And then an awful sense of wings:?And, lo! the answer--"'Twas his lust?That was his crime. Behold! E'en kings?Must reckon with Me. All are dust."
_Zyps of?Zirl_
The Alps of the Tyrol are dark with pines,?Where, foaming under the mountain spines,?The Inn's long water sounds and shines.
Beyond, are peaks where the morning weaves?An icy rose; and the evening leaves?The glittering gold of a thousand sheaves.
Deep vines and