"Doth it appal thee? thou canst yet return!58
There love, there sunny life;—and yonder"—"Fame,
Cymri, and God!" said Arthur. "Paynim, learn
Death has two victors, deathless both—THE NAME,
The soul; to each a realm eternal given,
This rules the earth, and that achieves the heaven."
He said, and seized a torch with scornful hand;59
The frail raft rock'd to his descending tread;
Upon the prow he fix'd the glowing brand,
And the raft drifted down the waves of dread.
So with his fortunes went confiding forth
The knightly Cæsar of the Christian North.
Then, from its shelter on his breast, the dove60
Rose, and sail'd slow before with doubtful wing;
The dun mists rolling round the vaults above,
Below, the gulf with torch-fires crimsoning;
Wan through the glare, or white amidst the gloom,
Glanced Heaven's mute daughter with the silver plume.
Meanwhile to Ægle: from the happier trance,61
And from the stun of the first human ill
Labouring returns her soul!—As lightnings glance
O'er battle-fields, with sated slaughter still,
The fitful reason flickering comes and goes
O'er the past struggle—o'er the blank repose.
At length with one long, eager, searching look,62
She gazed around, and all the living space
With one great loss seem'd lifeless!—then she strook
Her clench'd hand on her heart; and o'er her face
Settled ineffable that icy gloom,
Which only falls when hope abandons doom.
Why breaks the smile—why waves the exulting hand?63
Why to the threshold moves that step serene?
The brow superb awes back the maiden band,
From the roused woman towers sublime the queen.
She pass'd the isle—and beam'd upon the crowd,
Bright as the May-moon when it bursts the cloud.
Brief and imperious rings her question; quick64
A hundred hands point, answering, to the fane.
As on she sweeps, behind her, fast and thick,
Gather the groups far following in her train.
Behind some bird unknown, of glorious dyes,
So swarm the meaner people of the skies.
Oh, the great force, that sleeps in woman's heart!65
She will, at least, behold that form once more;
See its last vestige from her world depart,
And mark the spot to haunt and wander o'er,
Rased in that impulse of the human breast
All the cold lessons on its leaves impress'd;—
Snapp'd in the strength of the divine desire66
All the vain swathes with which convention thralls;—
Nature breaks forth, and at her breath of fire
The elaborate snow-pile's molten temple falls;
And meaner priestcrafts fly before that Truth,
Whose name is Passion, and whose altar, Youth!
Unknown the egress, dreamless of the snare,67
Sole aim to look the last on the adored:
She gains the fane—she treads the aisle—and there
The deathlights guide her to the bridal lord;
On, through pale groups around the yawning cave,
She comes—and looks upon the livid wave.