As towards the fane, which closed on hardy life101
The granite path to Labour's world behind,
O'er trampled flowers, strode the stern Child of Strife,
He saw the melancholy priest reclined
Under the shade of hush'd Dodonian boughs,
Bending, o'er mystic scrolls, calm, mournful brows.—
Loud on that musing leisure broke the cry102
Of the imperious Northman, "Rise, unbar
Your granite gates—the eagle seeks the sky,
The captive freedom, and the warrior war!"
Slow rose the Augur, and this answer gave,
"Man, see thy world—its outlet is the grave!
"Thou hast our secret! Thou must share our fates:103
The Alps and Orcus guard ourselves—and thee!
To what new Mars shall Janus ope the gates?
Thou speak'st of war, and then demand'st the key!"
Scornful he turn'd—but thrill'd with wrath to feel
His sacred arm lock'd in a grasp of steel.
"Trifle not, host,—Fate calls me to depart;104
On my shamed soul a prophet's voice hath cried!
Nor Alps nor Orcus like a loyal heart
Ensures the secret trustful lips confide."
The Augur sneer'd—"A loyal heart, forsooth!
And what says Ægle of the stranger's truth?"
"Let Ægle answer," cried the noble lover;105
"Let Ægle judge the trust I hold from Heaven.
I faithless!—I—a King?—my labours over,
From mine own soil the surge of carnage driven,
And I will come, as kings should come, to claim
A mate for empire, and a meed for fame!"—
Long mused the Augur, and at length replied,106
His guile scarce mask'd in his malignant gaze,
"Take, as thou say'st, an answer from thy bride—
Then, if still wearied of untroubled days—
No more from Mantu[18] Pales shall control;
And one free gate shall open on thy soul!"
He said, and drew his large robe round his form,107
And wrathful swept along, as o'er the sky
A cloud sweeps dark, secret with hoarded storm;
Behind him went the guest as silently;
Afar the gazing wonderers whisper'd, while
They cross'd the girdling wave and reach'd the isle.
With violet buds, bright Ægle, in her bower,108
Knits the dark riches of her lustrous hair;
Her heart springs eager to the magic hour
When to loved eyes 'tis glorious to be fair:
Gleams of a neck, proud as the swan's, escape
The light-spun tunic rounded to the shape.
The airy veil, its silver cloud dividing,109
Falls, and floats fragrant, from the violet crown.
What happy thought is in that breast presiding
Like some serenest bird that settles down
(Its wanderings over) on calm summer eves
Into its nest, amid the secret leaves?
What happy thought in those large tranquil eyes110
Speaks of a bliss remote from human fear?
Speaks of a soul which like a star supplies
Its own circumfluent lustrous atmosphere;
Weaves beam on beam around its peace, and glows
Soft through the splendour which itself bestows?