Part 36 (1/2)

Spirits (sing at the third altar): Hail, Sovereign! whose fires are kindled By sparks from the bottomless pit, Has thy wors.h.i.+p diminish'd or dwindled?

Do the yokes of thy slaves lightly sit?

Nay, the men of all climes and all races Are stirr'd by the flames that now stir us; Then (as we do) they fall on their faces, Crying, ”Hear us! Oh! Ashtaroth, hear us!”

Spirits (all in chorus): The vulture her carrion swallows, Returns to his vomit the dog.

In the slough of uncleanliness wallows The he-goat, and revels the hog.

Men are wise with their schools and their teachers, Men are just with their creeds and their priests; Yet, in spite of their pedants and preachers, They backslide in footprints of beasts!

Hugo: From the smoky altar there seems to come A stifled murmur, a droning hum.

Orion: With that we have nothing at all to do, Or, at least, not now, neither I nor you; Though some day or other, possibly We may see it closer, both you and I; Let us visit the nearest altar first, Whence the yellow fires flicker and burst, Like the flames from molten ore that spring; We may stand in the pale of the outer ring, But forbear to trespa.s.s within the inner, Lest the sins of the past should find out the sinner.

[They approach the first altar, and stand within the outer circle which surrounds it, and near the inner.]

Spirits (sing): Beneath us it flashes, The glittering gold, Though it turneth to ashes And dross in the hold; Yet man will endeavour, By fraud or by strife, To grasp it and never To yield it with life.

Orion: What can you see?

Hugo: Some decrepit shapes, That are neither dwarfs, nor demons, nor apes; In the hollow earth they appear to store And rake together great heaps of ore.

Orion: These are the gnomes, coa.r.s.e sprites and rough; Come on, of these we have seen enough.

[They approach second altar and stand as before.]

Spirits (singing): Above us it flashes, The glittering steel, Though the red blood splashes Where its victims reel; Yet man will endeavour To grapple the hilt, And to wield the blade ever Till his life be spilt.

Orion: What see you now?

Hugo: A rocky glen, A horrid jumble of fighting men, And a face that somewhere I've seen before.

Orion: Come on; there is naught worth seeing more, Except the altar of Ashtaroth.

Hugo: To visit that altar I am loth.

Orion: Why so?

Hugo: Nay, I cannot fathom why, But I feel no curiosity.

Orion: Come on. Stand close to the inner ring, And hear how sweetly these spirits sing.

[They approach third altar.]

Spirits (sing): Around us it flashes, The cestus of one Born of white foam, that dashes Beneath the white sun; Let the mortal take heart, he Has nothing to dare; She is fair, Queen Astarte, Her subjects are fair!

Orion: What see you now, friend?

Hugo: Wood and wold, And forms that look like the nymphs of old.

There is nothing here worth looking at twice.

I have seen enough.

Orion: You are far too nice; Nevertheless, you must look again.

Those forms will fade.

Hugo: They are growing less plain.

They vanish. I see a door that seems To open; a ray of sunlight gleams From a window behind; a vision as fair As the flush of dawn is standing there.