Volume Ii Part 5 (1/2)
Let us away, 'tis no use to tarry; Love no light to its heart will carry!
Sting it with words, it will never shrink; It will not repent, it cannot think!
Hath G.o.d forgotten it, alas!
Lost in eternity's lumber-room?
Will the wind of his breathing never pa.s.s Over it through the insensate gloom?
Like a frost-killed bud on a tombstone curled, Crumbling it lies on its crumbling world, Sightless and deaf, with never a cry, In the h.e.l.l of its own vacuity!
See, see yon angel crossing our flight Where the thunder vapours loom, From his upcast pinions flas.h.i.+ng the light Of some outbreaking doom!
Up, brothers! away! a storm is nigh!
Smite we the wing up a steeper sky!
What matters the hail or the clas.h.i.+ng winds, The thunder that buffets, the lightning that blinds!
We know by the tempest we do not lie Dead in the pits of eternity!
_THE THREE HORSES_.
What shall I be?--I will be a knight Walled up in armour black, With a sword of sharpness, a hammer of might.
And a spear that will not crack-- So black, so blank, no glimmer of light Will betray my darkling track.
Saddle my coal-black steed, my men, Fittest for sunless work; Old Night is steaming from her den, And her children gather and lurk; Bad things are creeping from the fen, And sliding down the murk.
Let him go!--let him go! Let him plunge!--Keep away!
He's a foal of the third seal's brood!
Gaunt with armour, in grim array Of poitrel and frontlet-hood, Let him go, a living castle, away-- Right for the evil wood.
I and Ravenwing on the course, Heavy in fighting gear-- Woe to the thing that checks our force, That meets us in career!
Giant, enchanter, devil, or worse-- What cares the couched spear!
Slow through the trees zigzag I ride.
See! the goblins!--to and fro!
From the skull of the dark, on either side, See the eyes of a dragon glow!
From the thickets the silent serpents glide-- I pa.s.s them, I let them go;
For somewhere in the evil night A little one cries alone; An aged knight, outnumbered in fight, But for me will be stricken p.r.o.ne; A lady with terror is staring white, For her champion is overthrown.
The child in my arms, to my hauberk prest, Like a trembling bird will cling; I will cover him over, in iron nest, With my s.h.i.+eld, my one steel wing, And bear him home to his mother's breast, A radiant, rescued thing.
Spur in flank, and lance in rest, On the old knight's foes I flash; The caitiffs I scatter to east and west With clang and hurtle and crash; Leave them the law, as knaves learn it best, In bruise, and breach, and gash.
The lady I lift on my panting steed; On the pommel she holds my mace; Hand on bridle I gently lead The horse at a gentle pace; The thickets with martel-axe I heed, For the wood is an evil place.
What treasure is there in manly might That hid in the bosom lies!
Who for the crying will not fight Had better be he that cries!
A man is a knight that loves the right And mounts for it till he dies.
Alas, 'tis a dream of ages h.o.a.r!
In the fens no dragons won; No giants from moated castles roar; Through the forest wide roadways run; Of all the deeds they did of yore Not one is left to be done!