The Downing legends : Stories in Rhyme The witch of Shiloh, the last of the Wampanoags, the gentle earl, the enchanted voyage |
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 | The Downing legends : Stories in Rhyme |  |
XL
It seemed a mirage built of air,
Or boreal tints, or bubbles, wrought
To glow a moment false and fair,
Then vanish sparkling into naught.
It seemed no mortal land; it glared
Too prodigal in hue for earth;
It seemed a land that fiends had dared
To make in malice or in mirth;
A land of goblin shapes and tints,
Devised by seraphim perverse,
Full many wicked ages since,
To mock the Maker's universe.
Or boreal tints, or bubbles, wrought
To glow a moment false and fair,
Then vanish sparkling into naught.
It seemed no mortal land; it glared
Too prodigal in hue for earth;
It seemed a land that fiends had dared
To make in malice or in mirth;
A land of goblin shapes and tints,
95
Full many wicked ages since,
To mock the Maker's universe.
Perchance the maiden hoped that here,
Where magic made its dwelling-place,
Her tracking foe might tread in fear,
Relax his pace, forsake his chase;
Or quit the cumbered way and roam,
Forever circling, till he died,
Like one who seeks without a guide
To thread a Roman catacomb.
Where magic made its dwelling-place,
Her tracking foe might tread in fear,
Relax his pace, forsake his chase;
Or quit the cumbered way and roam,
Forever circling, till he died,
Like one who seeks without a guide
To thread a Roman catacomb.
But on he tramped with fearless stride
From elfin tower to demon hall,
Along the base of wizard wall,
Through Stygian forest stricken prone,
Through pandemoniums of stone,
Forever forward, ever west;
A dogging phantom, scorning rest,
Who never lost his quarry's track,
Nor left a footprint pointing back;
A cruel spectre fell as hate,
Preluding vast pursuing broods,
The first of deadly multitudes,
Precursor, herald, omen, fate!
From elfin tower to demon hall,
Along the base of wizard wall,
Through Stygian forest stricken prone,
Through pandemoniums of stone,
Forever forward, ever west;
A dogging phantom, scorning rest,
Who never lost his quarry's track,
Nor left a footprint pointing back;
A cruel spectre fell as hate,
Preluding vast pursuing broods,
The first of deadly multitudes,
Precursor, herald, omen, fate!
| The Downing legends : Stories in Rhyme | |