The Firm Island
Prince Apolidon the Mage
Raised a mystic hermitage
On an island in a shipless sea
By necromantic potency,
Carving the granite gateways of its cliffs
With interdicting seals and hieroglyphs,
That his unequals might not habit there,
Nor drink that island’s consecrated air.
White terraces o’erhung the black abyss,
Fair as the gardens Queen Semiramis
Piled above Babylon: the glittering height
Seemed as the day empillared on the night.
And from the ocean-green of myrtle’s shadow
Rose a pavilion, which from afar
Seemed to the eyes of shipmen as a star
Shattered on a distant meadow.
Betwixt this palace and the shipless sea
The wizard set an arch of glamourie,
Byzantine, builded as from golden air.
Its fretted alcove held an image rare,
In whose uplifted hand there burned and shone
The brazen brightness of a clarion.
And should a lady or a knight,
Lesser in beauty or in might
Than wise Apolidon the wight
Or Grymenysa fair
Seek to traverse the magic vault,
Or make the palace by assault,
The brazen trump would blare,
And vomit such a horrid blast
That, fainting from the garden cast,
The wretch would perish there.
But, should a knight of equal fame
Or lady of unblemished name
Seek entrance by the port,
The trumpet, with a high fanfare
Of praise, would waken all the air
Of that celestial court.
Two crystal pillars marked the magic line;
A tablature of jasper, serpentine,
Surround by arabesques like carven flame,
On which would flash the lineage and name
Of that illustrious paladin or dame,
Gleamed in the Grecian pavement; who did pass
Those pillars frozen in Phœnician glass
Would see, ’mid splendour like reflecting ice,
The lord and lady of that paradise
Moulded in immortality of brass.
Still deeper in those labyrinths of pleasure
A siege right perilous the Mage did make
For Grymenysa’s fair, mysterious sake,
For glory of a love withouten measure,
Setting nine seals of Babylonian doom
Upon the entrance to her ivory room,
That but the highest hearts the world had seen
Might know the rapture of its air serene.
And that no sordidness might pass therein
He sentinelled the door with savage jinn,
Invisible and with the flaming powers
Of Sheol in their guarding scimitars.
And all the webs of his weird soul were woven,
In mazy mystery of charm and spell,
Around the shadows of that citadel,
Where oft his wizard prowess had been proven.
So did he leave the place of his delight
To sinful spirits in a magic night,
Calling on Siduri and Sabitu,
And Baphomet, in syllables of might.
And when the moon was in her thinnest phase
He left that island in the shipless sea,
No man knew how, nor evermore did he
Return unto its labyrinthine ways.
Still in the dawn’s white fire the shepherd sees
Shapes whiter than the dawn, and whisperings
Sigh through the shadows of the myrtle-trees,
Like to the mutterings of invisible kings
Who speak of blessed, heart-remembered things.
Before he had quitted this marvellous island Prince Apolidon had placed a governor over it, and had commanded that any who failed to pass the Arch of Honour and still survived the dread blast of the trumpet should without ceremony be cast out of the island, but that such as sustained the ordeal were to be entertained and served with all honour. And he willed that when the island should have another lord the enchantment should cease.
The Firm Island
Now the spell had been laid upon the island for about a hundred years when Amadis, who had taken a fond farewell of Oriana, and was on adventure bound, encountered a damsel who told him of the wonders of the Firm Island, which, she said, was scarcely two days’ sail from where he then sojourned. Amadis replied that he could desire nothing better than to essay such an adventure, and the damsel’s father, a knight of large estate, agreed to guide him there so that he might essay the perilous adventure. When at last they came to the Firm Island they beheld the pavilion, the walls of which were hung with the shields of those who had tried the adventure but failed, for though several had passed the arch none had penetrated to the pavilion. And when Amadis saw that so many good knights had been undone his heart misgave him.