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 |  |
XLVII
Beneath these altitudes of woe
The cursed river, far below,
Fled arrow-like with endless moan
Along a groove of solid stone;
Now speeding sheets of lucent glass
Adown a straight and roomy pass;
Now tossing crests of angry foam
By thwarting pinnacle and dome;
Now charging over waterfalls
With glinting hoofs and trumpet-calls;
Forever mad to reach the main,
To 'scape its dungeon, break its chain.
The cursed river, far below,
Fled arrow-like with endless moan
Along a groove of solid stone;
Now speeding sheets of lucent glass
Adown a straight and roomy pass;
Now tossing crests of angry foam
By thwarting pinnacle and dome;
103
With glinting hoofs and trumpet-calls;
Forever mad to reach the main,
To 'scape its dungeon, break its chain.
The jinns of that infernal land
Pursued our knight with heavy hand,
And vexed him sore for venturing in
Their realm of punishment and sin.
A dozen cataracts a day
He ran in hissing foam and spray;
A dozen times he lost his boat,
Rejoiced if he himself could float;
A dozen times, if not a score,
He swam to gather bark and oar;
And recommenced with constant soul
His venture down the stream of dole.
Pursued our knight with heavy hand,
And vexed him sore for venturing in
Their realm of punishment and sin.
A dozen cataracts a day
He ran in hissing foam and spray;
A dozen times he lost his boat,
Rejoiced if he himself could float;
A dozen times, if not a score,
He swam to gather bark and oar;
And recommenced with constant soul
His venture down the stream of dole.
A month he chased the flying maid,
And then another, undismayed
By coiling eddy, leaping wave,
By deserts lonesome as the grave,
By goblin palace, wizard lair,
By impish scowl or ghoulish glare.
But eftersoon (while flitting swift
Along a shadowy mountain rift,
A dizzy mile from brow to base,
Where never midday showed its face)
He met a host of savage foes
And half rejoiced to feel their blows,
So dreary was his soul, so fain
To greet some living wight again.
And then another, undismayed
By coiling eddy, leaping wave,
By deserts lonesome as the grave,
By goblin palace, wizard lair,
By impish scowl or ghoulish glare.
But eftersoon (while flitting swift
Along a shadowy mountain rift,
A dizzy mile from brow to base,
Where never midday showed its face)
He met a host of savage foes
And half rejoiced to feel their blows,
So dreary was his soul, so fain
To greet some living wight again.
| The Downing legends : Stories in Rhyme | |