And where on tumult, tumult whirl'd and roar'd,132
Shrill'd cries, "The fires around us and behind,
And the last Fire-God and the Flaming-Sword!"[7]
And from without, like that destroying wind
In which the world shall perish, grides and sweeps
Victory—swift-cleaving through the battle deeps!—
Victory, by shouts of terrible rapture known,133
Through crashing ranks it drives in iron rain;
Borne on the wings of fire it blazes on;
It halts its storm before the fortress fane;
And through the doors, and through the chinks of pine,
Flames its red breath upon the paling shrine.
Roused to their demon courage by the dread134
Of the wild hour, the priests a voice have found;
To pious horror show their sacred dead,
Invoke the vengeance, and explore the ground,
When, like the fiend in monkish legends known,
Sprang a grim image on the altar-stone!
The wolf's hide bristled on the shaggy breast135
Over the brows, the forest buffalo
With horn impending arm'd the grisly crest,
From which the swart eye sent its savage glow:
Long shall the Saxon dreams that shape recall,
And ghastly legends teem with tales of Faul![8]
Needs here to tell, that when, at Merlin's hest,136
Faul led to Harold's tent the Saxon maid,
The wrathful Thane had chased the skulking priest
From the paled ranks, that evil Bode[9] dismay'd:—
And the grim tidings of the rite to come
Flew lip to lip through that awed Heathendom.
Foretaught by Merlin of her mission there,137
Scarce to her father's heart Genevra sprung
Than (while most soften'd) her impassion'd prayer
Pierced to its human deeps; and, roused and stung
By that keen pity, keenest in the brave,—
Strength felt why strength is given, and rush'd to save:—
Amidst those quick emotions half forgot,138
Follow'd the tutor'd furtive Aleman;
On, when the portals crash'd, still heeded not,
Stole his light step behind the striding Thane.
From coign to shaft the practised glider crept,
A shadow, lost where shadows darkest slept.
And safe and screen'd the idol god behind,139
He who once lurk'd to slay, kept watch to save;—
Now there he stood! And the same altar shrined
The wild man, the wild god! and up the nave
Flight flow'd on flight; and near and loud, the name
Of "Arthur" borne as on a whirlwind came.
Down from the altar to the victim's side,140
While yet shrunk back the priests—the savage leapt,
And with quick steel gash'd the strong cords that tied;
When round them both the rallying vengeance swept;
Raised every arm;—O joy!—the enchanted glaive
Shines o'er the threshold! is there time to save?
A torch whirls hissing through the air—it falls141
Into the centre of the murderous throng!
Dread herald of dread steps! the conscious halls
Quake where the falchion flames and flies along;
Though crowd on crowd behold the falchion cleave!—
The Silver Shield rests over Geneviève!