The Arctic Queen

by Unknown

A band of sprites, armed with sharp, silver spears,
With pearl-encrusted garb and gleaming sandals,
Dwelling low down the land, even amid men,
The Queen's advance guard, giving due alarm
Of all attacks, taking short flights by night,
And reconnoitering the southern world,—
Had sent a group to counsel with their Queen.
These, now, had much to say of an adventure
Which took them almost to the Tropic Zone:—
How they had blighted fruit; and mildews cast
Over the fields; and blasted flowering trees;
Nipping the hopes of gaudy butterflies,
Doting on honeyed flowers to fill their mouths;
Chilling the saucy birds within their nests;
Ruining the rainbow hues of many a garden;
Pricking the insect world with their fine spears,
And disappointing mortals of their wish.

Their somewhat boastful discourse these had ceased,
When came in hosts a crowd around the Pole,
Parting on each side to make way for one,
A stranger, craving audience of their Queen.
What saw those weird and piercing eyes, full turned
To meet the coming throng?—a singular sight,
Which filled them with bright anger and surprise!
Up from the sea, along a silvery path,
A mortal came; her girlish feet the first
That ever pressed the veritable Pole;
And not more strange to her was this wild queen,
And all the fairness of these maids of honor,
Than was her sunny beauty unto them.
The fluttering brightness of her golden hair,
The lustrous darkness of her eyes, the warmth
Of tropic tints upon her brow and cheek,
The dimpled fullness of her form, appeared
In vivid contrast with their fairer charms.
She held an offering of gorgeous flowers—
Those most renowned for fragrance—in her hands,
Which, as she reached the platform, she held forth
With a most winning, most beseeching air.
Amazed at such presumption, on the maid,
Queen Oene's brow darkened in sudden wrath.

"Warriors! do ye permit this sight!" she cried.

The lightest breath of that majestic voice
Had ever been with prompt obedience met;
But now, though hoarse and deep as surging sea,
No spear was lowered and no arrow bent.
The Pole-Queen raised aloft her pale right arm;—
She stamped her haughty feet upon the pave,—
And all the Powers of the vast Frigid Zone
Were in commotion terrible:—the earth
Shook till the people reeled, and reeling, fell;
The circle of white gems about the throne
Threw off strange darts of light which smote like steel:
Swift whirling round with inconceivable speed
A host of Northern Lights sprang into air,
And, battling round their Queen, confused and wild,
Blent with each other in the fierce affray.
The frightened stars paled in the distant sky;
And spectres rushed on shadowy steeds of grey
Down the flushed firmament; and shining spears,
Held by invisible hands, whirled high o'erhead.
Pale mortals in the far off Torrid Zone
Saw wonders in the Northern air with fear;
And when an inward trembling shook the Pole
Central through all the earth, in distant lands
The mountains belched forth fire on fated cities.

Behind the throne suddenly arose a shower,
As 'twere of phosphorescent flakes of snow,
Straight upward like a fountain, and then fell
In glowing sparks wide over all the land.
The surging sea dashed its bewildered waves
Against the foreheads of gigantic bergs,
Walking, like drunken men, the noisy deep.
Anon the Pole was calm. Uninjured stood
The mortal maid before the great Oene;
While near, a thousand prostrate subjects lay
Slain by an angry sovereign disobeyed.

"Queen of this strange and spectral land, wilt thou
Not show thy favor to a lonesome child
Come wandering all this way, impelled by love?
Not hate, ambition, curiosity,
Have led me to thy fair and fearful presence.
I have no power, am but a weak young girl;
And chance, alone, has thus revealed to me
The mystic glory of this unknown world,
With thy bright self and this enchanted isle,—
This pearl upon the bosom of the deep
So palely, purely fair—undreamed of beauty!
Love is the sole excuse which I can urge
For my intrusion"—here the stranger blushed,
Drooping in silence her embarrassed head.

"Speak on!" imperially the Pole-Queen said,
Charmed in her own despite, by that sweet face;
While Lir-lir to Kolona leaned and smiled,
Commending, in a whisper, what she saw:
And a soft flutter through the courtly train
Stirred, like the shimmer of a moonlit breeze
Kissing the waves:—"I will thy message hear!"

And so the maiden, gathering courage, said:
"Far in a blooming isle, in Southern seas,
I had a home, whose walls, of marble cool,
Were chequered by soft shadows, hovering,
Like flocks of birds, about its battlements;
For, all around, were trees, whose glistening leaves
Danced ever, in the sunlight or the moonlight,
To the soft flutes of the Arcadian winds;
And to the sleepy music, drowsily
The gorgeous flowers nodded their lovely heads.
Through the bright days, and in my sleep at night,
I heard the ripples breaking on the sand,
Till their continual murmur grew to be
A thing of course,—like sunshine and fresh air,—
Or like the love which grew into my life,
As color into flowers when they unfold.
The fluttering foliage and the sighing waves
Seemed whispering "Bertho!" ever in my ear;
For Bertho was my lover, and my heart
Could find no other meaning in their sound.
I was a princess of that blooming isle;
But Bertho—he was poor! still, not so poor
As brave, high-souled, and strangely venturesome.
He trusted to the sea to gain his wealth,
As well as knowledge and a manly fame.
Ah! how I wept, when told that we must part!
How much more bitter tears I shed that day
On which he left me, wretched, by the shore,
Watching the gleam of his receding sails!

"Dim grew the golden air from that dark hour.
Like some rich flower, torn from the wooing kiss
Of the warm sun, and hidden in a cell,
I drooped, and lost the redness of my cheeks.
All the wild thrills that used to come and go,
Tumultuous, through my happy heart, and send
The pulses flying through my frame, died out.

"And thus in sadness two long summers passed.
In madness or in wisdom my poor brain
Wrought out a vision in my troubled sleep,
Through which I saw my Bertho, and he bade
My soul be still and fear not,—I should take
My little boat, in which I used to skirt
The island shores, and loose it on the deep,
Placing myself within it:—It would come,
By force of an unknown and magic current,
(The thought of which, in speculative minds,
Had long been cherished,) straightway to the shore
Of the strange country where, enthralled, he dwelt.
If I still loved him, this would prove my love!