A Leaf from the Old Forest

by John D. Cossar

Save a very little number,
Who restrained their lusts and wishes,
And gave heed unto the sayings
Which the kindly spirits bore them,
Gaining power, the more they harken’d,
To withstand the evil spirits,
And to baffle their endeavours.
These went to the land of Blisses;
But for one who Sero passéd
Through the wicket on his right hand,
Going to the holy regions,
Seven passéd on his left hand,
Going to the pit of terrors.
Now that I have told you fairly,
Shewing as is due to render
Of the powers of King Nimæra
And his three most favored princes,
Giving Sero’s own description
Of the wonders of the regions
Which lie hid within the wickets
Which he ever proudly guardeth,
Will you listen when I tell you,—
Will you hearken to the stories
I can give you of Nimæra,
And his three most powerful princes,
And their dealings with the people?

I shall do my best to render
Stories such as will entice you;
Though my voice is low and feeble,
Though my pen is slow and wayward,
Never moving fair and fluent,
As the spirit which directs it
Would that it should move and tell you.
They shall but be little stories,
Gathered from the many records
Which the people kept and courted
In their halls, and towns, and cities.

I.

Sailing o’er the sparkling waters,
With accordant breezes favoured,
Came a vessel homeward bearing,
And a gladsome people on it.
Sang they songs, and danced, and sported;
Sadness was unknown amid them;
Old, and young, and middle-agéd
Were they, and of divers stations.
While their pleasures were the fullest,
Sero saw their joys and pondered,—
Pondered with his inward spirit:
“Lo! they have an idle fancy,
All their thoughts are gay and heedless,

And they dream not of destruction,
Think not of a danger nearing,
Nor will hearken to the warnings
Which are ever spoken to them.
Ere another morn has wakened
Shall their joys be turned to mourning.
I will send, and turn, and change them.”
Said he to retainers by him,
“Seest thou that fair-like vessel,
And the mirthful crew upon it?
Go, and captive make the number,
And their spirits hither bring me;
But their bodies can be portioned
To the monsters of the ocean.
Neptune I shall call and waken;
He will lend me storms and tempests,
Lightnings and mighty thunders,
Which shall in the mission aid thee,
Give an awful grandeur to it;
Like the flowing of great banners,
And as many torches blazing,
And the sounds of drums and trumpets,
Shall be storms, and flames, and thunder.”
So the mission goeth forthwith
O’er the still and tranquil waters;
And they waken slumbering Neptune,

Who advanceth storms and tempests;
And the waves rise up in anger,
Foam and hiss in reckless fury;
Thunders bellow martial music;
Lightnings flash their vivid torchlight.
Grand and mighty the procession!
Neptune, in majestic pomp, came
In his chariot, attended
By a myriad mystic beings,
To direct the storms and thunders,
And to rule the foaming billows.
Spake he thus unto the waters:
“Ope your gates, ye billows, open,
That great Sero’s host may enter
With the booty they have taken,
And the bodies of their captives,
Which shall in my caverns slumber,
In my rocky halls and grottos.”
Then the mighty gates were opened;
And they all went downward, down,
Down into the dark, cold waters,
With their cries and earnest prayers,
Wailings bitter and lamentings.
Woeful was the scene to witness:
Children clinging to their mothers,
Husbands in their wives’ embraces,

Brothers by their sisters holding,
Others running wild and madly,
Crying to their gods for succour;
Every heart in very terror
Quailing at the rising future.
But these cries cannot be answered;
They have sought too late for succour;
For the gates are closed upon them,
And the victors have their spirits,
Bearing to their princely Sero,
And their bodies are consignéd
To the halls of mighty Neptune.
Then did Sero take the spirits
As the mission brought them to him;
And for every one which entered
By the wicket on his right hand,
Leading to the land of gladness,
Seven by the other entered,
Down into the pit of terrors.

II.

Stood a fair and stately dwelling
In the concourse of the people,
Of the lofty of the people;
Looked it on the smaller buildings
Downward in a scornful manner;

Proud was it of fine appearance,
Proud the people who dwelt in it.
There the arts of every nation
Met with the united purpose
To adorn and to give splendor
To the chambers of this mansion,
To its corridors and landings.
Ottomans of downy velvet
In the looms of Utrecht woven,
Vases of Chinese production,
Crystals, bright and burnished figures,
Models made of gold and silver,
Tapestry, and lace, and network,
Carpets from the looms of Brussels,
Woven into gaudy figures.
In a certain gorgeous chamber,
In apparel likewise gorgeous,
Sat a mighty, pompous woman.
Very high were her ideas
Of her own expanded person,
And her own unmeasured value;
All the world would not contain them,
They were so elate and soaring.
Luxury and ease were round her,
As she fancied to receive them;
And a host of powdered servants