Part 11 (1/2)

Fay Abunda also fears All these sallow Nazarenes, So by day she hides herself Deep in secret Avalon.

For this sacred island lies In the still and silent sea Of Romanticism, whither None save winged steeds may go.

There no anchor Care may drop, Never there do steams.h.i.+ps touch, Bringing loads of Philistines With tobacco-pipes, to stare.

Never does that dismal, dull Ring of bells this stillness break-- That atrocious b.u.mm-bamm sound Which all gentle fairies hate.

There, abloom with lasting youth In unbroken joyfulness, Lives that merry-hearted dame, Golden-locked Abunda fair.

Laughing there she strolls between Huge sun-flowers drenched with light, Followed by her retinue Of unworldly Paladins.

Ah, but thou, Herodias, Say, where art thou? Ah, I know!

Thou art dead and buried deep By Jerusholayim's walls!

Corpse-like is thy sleep by day In thy marble coffin laid, But at midnight dost thou wake To the crack of whips! hurrah!

With Abunda, Dian, too, Dost thou join the headlong plunge And the blithesome hunter rout Fleeing from all cross and care.

What companions rare and blithe!

Might but I, Herodias, Ride at night through forests dark, I would gallop at thy side!

For of all I love thee most!

More than any G.o.ddess Grecian, More than any northern fay, Do I love thee, Jewess dead!

Yea, I love thee most! 'Tis true, By the trembling of my soul!

Love me too and be my sweet,-- Loveliest Herodias!

Love me too and be my love!

Fling that gory block-head far With its trencher. Sweeter dishes I shall give thee to enjoy.

Am not I thy proper knight Whom thou seekest? What care I If perchance thou'rt dead and d.a.m.ned-- Prejudices I have none!

Is my own salvation not In a parlous state? And oft Do I question if my life Still be linked with human lives.

Take me, take me as thy knight, Thine own _cavalier servente_; I will bear thy silken robe And each wayward mood of thine.

Every night beside thee, love, With this crazy horde I'll ride, And we'll kiss and thou shalt laugh At my quips and merry pranks.

I will help thee speed the hours Of the night. And yet by day All my joy shall pa.s.s;--in tears I shall sit upon thy grave.

Aye, by day will I sit down In the dust of kingly vaults, At the grave of my beloved By Jerusholayim's walls!

Then the grey Jews pa.s.sing by Will imagine that I mourn The destruction of thy temple And thy gates, Jerusholayim.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

[Ill.u.s.tration]