Young Adventure | Page 5

in
the darkening sky. A blinding gush of fire burst, flamed, and broke. A
voice like a wind spoke. Armored with light, and turbaned terribly,
A genie tramped the round earth underfoot; His head sought out the
stars, his cupped right hand Made half the sky one darkness. He was
mute. The sun, a ripened fruit, Drooped lower. Scarlet eddied o'er the
sand.
The genie spoke: "O miserable one! Thy prize awaits thee; come, and
hug it close! A noble crown thy draggled nets have won For this that
thou hast done. Blessed are fools! A gift remains for those!"
His hand sought out his sword, and lightnings flared Across the sky in
one great bloom of fire. Poised like a toppling mountain, it hung bared;
Suns that were jewels glared Along its hilt. The air burnt like a pyre.
Once more the genie spoke: "Something I owe To thee, thou fool, thou

fool. Come, canst thou sing? Yea? Sing then; if thy song be brave, then
go Free and released -- or no! Find first some task, some overmastering
thing I cannot do, and find it speedily, For if thou dost not thou shalt
surely die!"
The sword whirled back. The fisherman uprose, And if at first his voice
was weak with fear And his limbs trembled, it was but a doze, And at
the high song's close He stood up straight. His voice rang loud and
clear.
The Song.
Last night the quays were lighted; Cressets of smoking pine Glared o'er
the roaring mariners That drink the yellow wine.
Their song rolled to the rafters, It struck the high stars pale, Such worth
was in their discourse, Such wonder in their tale.
Blue borage filled the clinking cups, The murky night grew wan, Till
one rose, crowned with laurel-leaves, That was an outland man.
"Come, let us drink to war!" said he, "The torch of the sacked town!
The swan's-bath and the wolf-ships, And Harald of renown!
"Yea, while the milk was on his lips, Before the day was born, He took
the Almayne Kaiser's head To be his drinking-horn!
"Yea, while the down was on his chin, Or yet his beard was grown, He
broke the gates of Micklegarth, And stole the lion-throne!
"Drink to Harald, king of the world, Lord of the tongue and the troth!
To the bellowing horns of Ostfriesland, And the trumpets of the Goth!"
Their shouts rolled to the rafters, The drink-horns crashed and rang,
And all their talk was a clangor of war, As swords together sang!
But dimly, through the deep night, Where stars like flowers shone, A
passionate shape came gliding -- I saw one thing alone.
I only saw my young love Shining against the dark, The whiteness of
her raiment, The head that bent to hark.
I only saw my young love, Like flowers in the sun -- Her hands like
waxen petals, Where yawning poppies run.
I only felt there, chrysmal, Against my cheek her breath, Though all the
winds were baying, And the sky bright with Death.
Red sparks whirled up the chimney, A hungry flaught of flame, And a
lean man from Greece arose; Thrasyllos was his name.
"I praise all noble wines!" he cried, "Green robes of tissue fine,
Peacocks and apes and ivory, And Homer's sea-loud line,

"Statues and rings and carven gems, And the wise crawling sea; But
most of all the crowns of kings, The rule they wield thereby!
"Power, fired power, blank and bright! A fit hilt for the hand! The one
good sword for a freeman, While yet the cold stars stand!"
Their shouts rolled to the rafters, The air was thick with wine. I only
knew her deep eyes, And felt her hand in mine.
Softly as quiet water, One finger touched my cheek; Her face like
gracious moonlight -- I might not move nor speak.
I only saw that beauty, I only felt that form There, in the silken
darkness -- God wot my heart was warm!
Their shouts rolled to the rafters, Another chief began; His slit lips
showed him for a Hun; He was an evil man.
"Sing to the joys of women!" he yelled, "The hot delicious tents, The
soft couch, and the white limbs; The air a steam of scents!"
His eyes gleamed, and he wet his lips, The rafters shook with cheers,
As he sang of woman, who is man's slave For all unhonored years.
"Whether the wanton laughs amain, With one white shoulder bare, Or
in a sacked room you unbind Some crouching maiden's hair;
"This is the only good for man, Like spices of the South -- To see the
glimmering body laid As pasture to his mouth!
"To leave no lees within the cup, To see and take and rend;