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 |  |
XLIV
In any world of sin or bliss
No other river is like this,
So horrible, so stern, so sad,
So dungeoned close, so raving mad.
It seems an angel fallen, curst,
Forever ruined, knowing the worst,
Abhorred, pursued and scourged for crime,
Yet ever fierce, superb, sublime,
And grandly suffering alone,
Like Satan on his burning throne.
No other river is like this,
So horrible, so stern, so sad,
So dungeoned close, so raving mad.
It seems an angel fallen, curst,
Forever ruined, knowing the worst,
Abhorred, pursued and scourged for crime,
Yet ever fierce, superb, sublime,
And grandly suffering alone,
Like Satan on his burning throne.
And he who gazed upon it then
Believed he gazed on demon tide,
Right perilous to lives of men,
And perilous to souls beside;
Yet faltered not to follow it,
For, far along the awful moat,
He saw the wizard maiden sit
A billow-tost and fleeting boat.
Believed he gazed on demon tide,
Right perilous to lives of men,
And perilous to souls beside;
Yet faltered not to follow it,
For, far along the awful moat,
He saw the wizard maiden sit
A billow-tost and fleeting boat.
He knew his prey; he left the brow;
He won the base, no matter how;
Such heroes win whatever aim,
Though death confront and Eblis flame.
The strand attained, he bounded swift
O'er frothing rift and bowlder drift
Until he found a frowsy kraal,
Half burrowed 'neath the mountain wall,
Whose naked folk had fled before
That avalanche of eldritch steeds,
But left upon their darkling shore
A skiff that suited Downing's needs.
He launched in waves of speeding snow,
He made the lumpish paddle quiver,
And flew as though Apollo's bow
Had sent him whizzing down the river.
He won the base, no matter how;
Such heroes win whatever aim,
Though death confront and Eblis flame.
The strand attained, he bounded swift
100
Until he found a frowsy kraal,
Half burrowed 'neath the mountain wall,
Whose naked folk had fled before
That avalanche of eldritch steeds,
But left upon their darkling shore
A skiff that suited Downing's needs.
He launched in waves of speeding snow,
He made the lumpish paddle quiver,
And flew as though Apollo's bow
Had sent him whizzing down the river.
| The Downing legends : Stories in Rhyme | |