 | Madeline |  |
109
XIV. XIV.
VALCLUSA.
The trump of doom that Daphne's spirit rends
From her sweet body, and her trouble ends,
Is heard along the camp, where, slumber-bound,
The angels tremble in its piercing sound.
Startled as one, they straightway strike their tents:
It is the close of these divine events.
Accomplished is their task; the word of power
Has visible possession of the hour,
And to his last account has summoned hence,
To expiate in death his deep offence,
Him who knew passion yet no pity knew,
And with his love its human ties withdrew.
As they depart cloud-storms forthwith arise
From hidden seas; the frighted moon surprise.
The blowing mists and their wild shadows fly
Against the clinging colours of the sky,
To now eclipse, now liberate their light:
A scene resembling not the day or night.
At length they rush before the heavenly queen
Who falls behind and is no further seen.
From her sweet body, and her trouble ends,
Is heard along the camp, where, slumber-bound,
The angels tremble in its piercing sound.
Startled as one, they straightway strike their tents:
It is the close of these divine events.
Accomplished is their task; the word of power
Has visible possession of the hour,
And to his last account has summoned hence,
To expiate in death his deep offence,
Him who knew passion yet no pity knew,
And with his love its human ties withdrew.
As they depart cloud-storms forthwith arise
From hidden seas; the frighted moon surprise.
The blowing mists and their wild shadows fly
Against the clinging colours of the sky,
110
A scene resembling not the day or night.
At length they rush before the heavenly queen
Who falls behind and is no further seen.
The angel's hour of peace
Saw not the struggle cease,
For it foretold the scarce less sudden close
Of one yet sadder lot.
Madeline in sleep arose
Her slumber waking not,
Bound to its purpose still
The work of fate to prosper and fulfil.
On Madeline's ear unnoticed fell
Those dying moans, her sense towards one event
Omnipotent,
Held in the grasp of one resistless spell.
Saw not the struggle cease,
For it foretold the scarce less sudden close
Of one yet sadder lot.
Madeline in sleep arose
Her slumber waking not,
Bound to its purpose still
The work of fate to prosper and fulfil.
On Madeline's ear unnoticed fell
Those dying moans, her sense towards one event
Omnipotent,
Held in the grasp of one resistless spell.
Her tongue the silence keeps:
Her voice for ever sleeps;
But her fierce dream the stirring impulse moves,
With purpose blind and mute,
To act as fate approves,
And helps to execute.
Low rustlings of a wind
That in ravines remote had lagged behind,
Attend her, mourning, on her path.
Her arm outstretched to grasp the dagger's hilt,
This slave of guilt
Resigns her footsteps to the weapon's wrath.
Her voice for ever sleeps;
But her fierce dream the stirring impulse moves,
With purpose blind and mute,
To act as fate approves,
And helps to execute.
Low rustlings of a wind
That in ravines remote had lagged behind,
111
Her arm outstretched to grasp the dagger's hilt,
This slave of guilt
Resigns her footsteps to the weapon's wrath.
The poniard in her hand,
Poised like a fiery brand,
She glides to where it leads; her naked feet
In safety trace their way:
No obstacle they meet
Her journey to delay,
While rising like a star
The weapon lights her on her path afar.
From danger's way she nimbly turns;
Swayed by the winds she overhangs the gap;
Her garments flap;
But on its destined track her spirit burns.
Poised like a fiery brand,
She glides to where it leads; her naked feet
In safety trace their way:
No obstacle they meet
Her journey to delay,
While rising like a star
The weapon lights her on her path afar.
From danger's way she nimbly turns;
Swayed by the winds she overhangs the gap;
Her garments flap;
But on its destined track her spirit burns.
She leaps from rock to rock
Unconscious of the shock;
Her tender feet by crystals cut and bled!
She fords the raging flood,
And leaves the ripple red
With traces of her blood.
She climbs the harrowing steep;
Now up, now down her wary footsteps creep.
Along the brink, whose icy drip
In the abyss a roaring torrent finds,
Her course she winds,
Nor shuns the glacier in its headlong slip.
Unconscious of the shock;
Her tender feet by crystals cut and bled!
She fords the raging flood,
And leaves the ripple red
With traces of her blood.
She climbs the harrowing steep;
Now up, now down her wary footsteps creep.
112
In the abyss a roaring torrent finds,
Her course she winds,
Nor shuns the glacier in its headlong slip.
Again, her figure frail
The howling gusts assail;
Beside her track the precipice outspread.
But as in fairy dance
The nymphs on music tread,
Her well-timed steps advance.
Her magic guide is mute;
More safe to follow than the fulsome flute.
The very storms whose sudden gush
Thus vent aloud their undiscerning rage,
The fates engage
To poise her in the scale as past they rush.
The howling gusts assail;
Beside her track the precipice outspread.
But as in fairy dance
The nymphs on music tread,
Her well-timed steps advance.
Her magic guide is mute;
More safe to follow than the fulsome flute.
The very storms whose sudden gush
Thus vent aloud their undiscerning rage,
The fates engage
To poise her in the scale as past they rush.
Within the thunder's peal,
Her glory to reveal,
She stops, unshaken by the aimless crash.
She moves another pace
Into the lightning's flash,
Averting not her face.
Old votaries of fate,
Above her all the waters congregate:
But not on heaven her eyes are bent,
Though there, to devastate the earth again
In ruin's train,
The ancient deluge rears a monument.
Her glory to reveal,
She stops, unshaken by the aimless crash.
She moves another pace
Into the lightning's flash,
Averting not her face.
Old votaries of fate,
Above her all the waters congregate:
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Though there, to devastate the earth again
In ruin's train,
The ancient deluge rears a monument.
And where the lightnings smite
A world of day they write,
Then shut the page of their immortal book.
They smite upon the rock,
They smite upon the brook,
The fountains to unlock,
The hill-tops to display;
To show the night the equal of the day.
The high despotic vault they rive;
They marshal clouds of thunder to advance
And seize the chance
To plunder heaven of its prerogative.
A world of day they write,
Then shut the page of their immortal book.
They smite upon the rock,
They smite upon the brook,
The fountains to unlock,
The hill-tops to display;
To show the night the equal of the day.
The high despotic vault they rive;
They marshal clouds of thunder to advance
And seize the chance
To plunder heaven of its prerogative.
With heavy fall and bound
Rain sweeps the troubled ground;
The playing waters froth the busy mud
Where amber-bubbles rush,
And airy vessels scud;
Their streams the gangway flush.
The leafy vine is riven
And from its moorings down the current driven.
Queen of the storm, the sleeper wends
Along its van, and in the lightning's beam
Conducts her dream.
Disordered Nature on her rage attends.
Rain sweeps the troubled ground;
The playing waters froth the busy mud
Where amber-bubbles rush,
And airy vessels scud;
Their streams the gangway flush.
The leafy vine is riven
And from its moorings down the current driven.
114
Along its van, and in the lightning's beam
Conducts her dream.
Disordered Nature on her rage attends.
Now comes with sphinx-like face
Ineffable in grace,
The ample moon encircled by her spell,—
Her own by right divine,—
The elements to quell,
They watch her glory shine.
She seems to bear in state
The secret of inexorable fate.
Nor she the rising towers conceals,
While Madeline, at the bridge that spans the moat,
In robes that float,
Walks in the flood of splendour she reveals.
Ineffable in grace,
The ample moon encircled by her spell,—
Her own by right divine,—
The elements to quell,
They watch her glory shine.
She seems to bear in state
The secret of inexorable fate.
Nor she the rising towers conceals,
While Madeline, at the bridge that spans the moat,
In robes that float,
Walks in the flood of splendour she reveals.
In light and shadow told,
Are there the days of old.
Unwelcome is the stranger at the gate.
A watch-dog guardant lies
That in unsleeping hate
With mortal more than vies;
But when in measured grace
The sleeper's fearless steps his threshold pace
'Tis he who feels the mortal dread.
He pours along the under-vaulted way
His hollow bay,
To warn the mighty living through the dead.
Are there the days of old.
Unwelcome is the stranger at the gate.
A watch-dog guardant lies
That in unsleeping hate
With mortal more than vies;
But when in measured grace
The sleeper's fearless steps his threshold pace
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He pours along the under-vaulted way
His hollow bay,
To warn the mighty living through the dead.
When through the gate she flits,
One at the portal sits
Encased in mail and armed with shield and spear.
As past his eyes she trips
They follow her in fear,
And silent are his lips.
Others the passage line
And with like awe look on her as divine.
Along the ranks her poniard's glare
Conveys no threat: but only seen the ghost
That threads the host,—
She of their solemn muster unaware.
One at the portal sits
Encased in mail and armed with shield and spear.
As past his eyes she trips
They follow her in fear,
And silent are his lips.
Others the passage line
And with like awe look on her as divine.
Along the ranks her poniard's glare
Conveys no threat: but only seen the ghost
That threads the host,—
She of their solemn muster unaware.
The unclosed doorway leads
To where the banquet spreads;
And on the daïs, gay at the festal hour,
The guests in knightly grace
The red libation pour,
Each in his bannered place.
Why does the flowing wine
Congeal like clusters hung upon the vine?
Why pass those looks of horror round?
Pale every face, one pale no more to flush.
They hear the gush,
The blood that gurgles from a mortal wound.
To where the banquet spreads;
And on the daïs, gay at the festal hour,
The guests in knightly grace
The red libation pour,
Each in his bannered place.
Why does the flowing wine
Congeal like clusters hung upon the vine?
116
Pale every face, one pale no more to flush.
They hear the gush,
The blood that gurgles from a mortal wound.
And in that self-same sleep,
So mystic, wild, and deep,
Madeline returns and by the angel lies.
Nor has the wound that bled,
Across her heavy eyes
Its ruby lustre shed.
That sleep, by justice sent
With dreams that ever echoed its intent,
Had worked for her its ample spoil.
And the seduced, the once seductile maid,
All hate allay'd,
Resumes her virgin slumber through its toil.
So mystic, wild, and deep,
Madeline returns and by the angel lies.
Nor has the wound that bled,
Across her heavy eyes
Its ruby lustre shed.
That sleep, by justice sent
With dreams that ever echoed its intent,
Had worked for her its ample spoil.
And the seduced, the once seductile maid,
All hate allay'd,
Resumes her virgin slumber through its toil.
| Madeline | |