Volume Ii Part 26 (1/2)
The horn of their obstructive debt!
But quit the stage, that note applies For sermons cosmopolitan, Hernani. Have we filched our prize, Forgetting . . .? O the horn! the horn!
The horn of the Old Gentleman!
THE NUPTIALS OF ATTILA
I
Flat as to an eagle's eye, Earth hung under Attila.
Sign for carnage gave he none.
In the peace of his disdain, Sun and rain, and rain and sun, Cherished men to wax again, Crawl, and in their manner die.
On his people stood a frost.
Like the charger cut in stone, Rearing stiff, the warrior host, Which had life from him alone, Craved the trumpet's eager note, As the bridled earth the Spring.
Rusty was the trumpet's throat.
He let chief and prophet rave; Venturous earth around him string Threads of gra.s.s and slender rye, Wave them, and untrampled wave.
O for the time when G.o.d did cry, Eye and have, my Attila!
II
Scorn of conquest filled like sleep Him that drank of havoc deep When the Green Cat pawed the globe: When the hors.e.m.e.n from his bow Shot in sheaves and made the foe Crimson fringes of a robe, Trailed o'er towns and fields in woe; When they streaked the rivers red, When the saddle was the bed.
Attila, my Attila!
III
He breathed peace and pulled a flower.
Eye and have, my Attila!
This was the damsel Ildico, Rich in bloom until that hour: Shyer than the forest doe Twinkling slim through branches green.
Yet the shyest shall be seen.
Make the bed for Attila!
IV
Seen of Attila, desired, She was led to him straightway: Radiantly was she attired; Rifled lands were her array, Jewels bled from weeping crowns, Gold of woeful fields and towns.
She stood pallid in the light.
How she walked, how withered white, From the blessing to the board, She who would have proudly blushed, Women whispered, asking why, Hinting of a youth, and hushed.
Was it terror of her lord?
Was she childish? was she sly?
Was it the bright mantle's dye Drained her blood to hues of grief Like the ash that shoots the spark?
See the green tree all in leaf: See the green tree stripped of bark! - Make the bed for Attila!
V
Round the banquet-table's load Scores of iron hors.e.m.e.n rode; Chosen warriors, keen and hard; Grain of thres.h.i.+ng battle-dints; Attila's fierce body-guard, Smelling war like fire in flints.
Grant them peace be fugitive!
Iron-capped and iron-heeled, Each against his fellow's s.h.i.+eld Smote the spear-head, shouting, Live, Attila! my Attila!
Eagle, eagle of our breed, Eagle, beak the lamb, and feed!
Have her, and unleash us! live, Attila! my Attila!
VI