Volume Ii Part 28 (1/2)
XXI
'Tis the room where thunder sleeps.
Frenzy, as a wave to sh.o.r.e Surging, burst the silent door, And drew back to awful deeps Breath beaten out, foam-white. Anew Howled and pressed the ghastly crew, Like storm-waters over rocks.
Attila, my Attila!
One long shaft of sunset red Laid a finger on the bed.
Horror, with the snaky locks, Shocked the surge to stiffened heaps, h.o.a.ry as the glacier's head Faced to the moon. Insane they look.
G.o.d it is in heaven who weeps Fallen from his hand the Scourge he shook.
Make the bed for Attila!
XXII
Square along the couch, and stark, Like the sea-rejected thing Sea-sucked white, behold their King.
Attila, my Attila!
Beams that panted black and bright, Scornful lightnings danced their sight: Him they see an oak in bud, Him an oaklog stripped of bark: Him, their lord of day and night, White, and lifting up his blood Dumb for vengeance. Name us that, Huddled in the corner dark Humped and grinning like a cat, Teeth for lips!--'tis she! she stares, Glittering through her bristled hairs.
Rend her! Pierce her to the hilt!
She is Murder: have her out!
What! this little fist, as big As the southern summer fig!
She is Madness, none may doubt.
Death, who dares deny her guilt!
Death, who says his blood she spilt!
Make the bed for Attila!
XXIII
Torch and lamp and sunset-red Fell three-fingered on the bed.
In the torch the beard-hair scant With the great breast seemed to pant: In the yellow lamp the limbs Wavered, as the lake-flower swims: In the sunset red the dead Dead avowed him, dry blood-red.
XXIV
Hatred of that abject slave, Earth, was in each chieftain's heart.
Earth has got him, whom G.o.d gave, Earth may sing, and earth shall smart!
Attila, my Attila!
XXV
Thus their prayer was raved and ceased.
Then had Vengeance of her feast Scent in their quick pang to smite Which they knew not, but huge pain Urged them for some victim slain Swift, and blotted from the sight.
Each at each, a crouching beast, Glared, and quivered for the word.
Each at each, and all on that, Humped and grinning like a cat, Head-bound with its bridal-wreath.
Then the bitter chamber heard Vengeance in a cauldron seethe.
Hurried counsel rage and craft Yelped to hungry men, whose teeth Hard the grey lip-ringlet gnawed, Gleaming till their fury laughed.
With the steel-hilt in the clutch, Eyes were shot on her that froze In their blood-thirst overawed; Burned to rend, yet feared to touch.
She that was his nuptial rose, She was of his heart's blood clad: Oh! the last of him she had! - Could a little fist as big As the southern summer fig, Push a dagger's point to pierce Ribs like those? Who else! They glared Each at each. Suspicion fierce Many a black remembrance bared.
Attila, my Attila!
Death, who dares deny her guilt!