 | The Legend of St. Loy |  |
III.
But lo! — beside that Well is seenA wild, and more than human mien,
Albeit no celestial charm
Is mingled in her solemn form;
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And owns not for her mother — Earth.
They see her, and, recoiling, sign
Their foreheads with the cross divine.
I said her form was wild, and, sooth to tell,
It was most strangely beautiful as well,
But still not lovely — for it had an awe
Which did appal the gazer, and not draw
His soul to worship her supernal charms,
And seek the world, yea, heaven, within her arms.
Wild — as the strain each fatal sister sings,
While o'er hell's loom they weave the doom of Kings;
Strange—as their theme, and beauteous—as their song,
While they their horrid labour ply along,
Heard by a mortal ear, if mortal ear
To list the song of Destiny could bear —
Wild — beautiful — as those Valkyrior
Who, in Valhalla's Paradise of War,
Prepare the fabled God, and heroes blest,
Celestial mead, in hour of mortal rest.
| The Legend of St. Loy | |