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QUEEN HECATE'S TRIUMPH.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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154

QUEEN HECATE'S TRIUMPH.

I.

Midnight clad in brightness,
Beautiful in calm,
Walked her realm of starriness,
Through a breath of balm;
Softly-rising zephyrs
Swept along the way,
Where the Lord of Mazzaroth
Held his regal sway:
And the sad-eyed sisters
Of the Pleiades,
Weeping still the lost one,
Watch'd o'er smiling seas;
Fleck'd with stars, the mantle,
Floating free, of Night,
Stream'd o'er northern summits,
Trailing robes of light.
Never the blue gardens
Of the firmament,
With such starry blossoms
Were so brighty-sprent;
As the twiring beauties
Sped, each glorious form
Was at once the proof and pledge
'Gainst the growing storm.

155

II.

'Twas a realm all faerie,
And o'er Eastern waves,
Sweetly sad, Queen Hecate
Rose from Ocean's caves;
Thousand pure white zephyrs
Sped along her way,
Signalling a thousand tribes
To come forth and play.
How the little billows
Lifted their green heads;
Each a foam-wreath wearing,
Torn from ocean beds;
And with these commercing,
You might fancy swarms
O'er the gray beach gambolling,
Light, fantastic forms.
Gayly, little islets
Floated o'er the deep,
Breasting sky and ocean,
Each a shining sleep;
And great birds were spreading
Vans for either shore,
While in green groves, little birds
Sang back to ocean's roar.
You might deem, with reason,
That, from every land,
Longing hearts were linking
In a loving band:

156

Souls for flight had pinions,
Won from music's wing,
And with never a care, the heart
Could everywhere go sing.

III.

Yet the very brightness
Hath its birth in gloom;
And the dreary blight stands evermore
Waiting on the bloom;
And the skyey gardens,
Hanging soft in air,
Feel the Presence rising
Of a grim Despair.
Twin-born with the Zephyr,
From one ocean bed,
In the West ascending,
Lo, the Shadowy Dread!
Speeding on with pinions
Breaking through all bars,
Spreading vans that threaten
To submerge the stars!

IV.

Insolent! all vainly
Would thy hate assail
The silver-footed Huntress,
Guarded with bright mail:
Arrow after arrow
Rends thy sable wings,
While the shaft that wounds thee,
Beauty o'er thee flings.

157

Oh! how vainly flying
Her pursuing gleams;
O'er thy murky mantle
Pour the radiant streams;
Far, the floating edges
Of thy pall of night,
She hath ermined lovelily
With delicious bright.
On thy brow sepulchral
There's a gleam—a glare—
And thy great black shoulders
Suddenly grow fair;
Through thy folds of murkiness
Speed the silver darts,
As the arrowy lightning
Gilds the gloom it parts.
Thus, in horrid Hades,
Midst the realm of gloom,
Beauty strives with Terror,
Gladdening blight with bloom!
So fair Proserpina
Soothes the storm to rest,
With silver tresses streaming,
Flung fond on Pluto's breast.