BOOK IX.

Throned on the dazzling and untrodden height,

Form'd of the frost-gems ageslabour forth

From the blanch'd air,— crown'd with the pomp of light

I’ the midst of dark,— stern Father of the North,

Thee I invoke, as, awed, my steps profane

The dumb gates opening on thy death-like reign!

Here did the venturous Ithacanexplore,

Amidst the dusky, wan, Cimmerian waste,

By Ocean's farthest bounds — the spectre shore

Trod by the Dead, and vainly here embraced

The Phantom Mother. Pause, look round, survey

The ghastly realm beyond the shafts of Day.

Magnificent Horror!— How like royal Death

Broods thy great hush above the seeds of Life!

Under the snow-mass cleaves thine icy breath,

And, with the birth of fairy forests rife,

Blushes the world of white;— the green that glads

The wave, is but the march of myriads;

There, immense, moves uncouth leviathan;

There, from the hollows of phantasmal isles,

The morseemerging rears the face of man,

There, the huge bear scents, miles on desolate miles,

The basking seal;— and ocean shallower grows,

Where, through its world, a world, the kraken goes.

Father of races, marching at the van

Of the great league and armament of Thought;—

When Eastern stars grew dim to drooping man,

And waned the antique light Prometheus brought,

The North beheld the new Alcides rise,

Unbind the Titan and relight the skies.

Imperial WINTER, hail!— All hail with thee

Labour, the stern Perfecter of Mankind,

Shaping the ends of human destiny

Out of the iron of the human mind:

For in our toils our fates we may survey!

And where rests Labour there begins decay.

Winter, and Labour, and Necessity,

Behold the Three that make us what we are!

Forced to invent — aspirers to the High,

Nerved to endure — the conquerors of the Far —

So the crude nebula in movement hurl'd,

Takes form in moving, and becomes a world.

Dumb Universe of Winter — there it lies

Dim through the mist, a spectral skeleton!

Far in the wan verge of the solid skies

Hangs day and night the phantom of a moon;

And slowly moving on the horizon's brink

Floats the vast ice-field with its glassy blink.

But huge adown the liquid Infinite

Drift the sea Andes — by the patient wrath

Of the strong waves uprooted from their site

In bays forlorn — and on their winter path

( Themselves a winter ) glide, or heavily, where

They freeze the wind, halt in the inert air.

Nor bird nor beast lessens with visible

Life, the large awe of space without a sun;

Though in each atom life unseen doth dwell

And glad with gladness God the Living One.

HE breathes — but breathless hang the airs that freeze!

HE speaks — but noiseless list the silences!

A lonely ship — lone in the measureless sea,

Lone in the channel through the frozen steeps,

Like some bold thought launch'd on infinity

By early sage — comes glimmering up the deeps!

The dull wave, dirge-like, moans beneath the oar;

The dull air heaves with wings that glide before.

From earth's warm precincts, through the sunless gate

That guards the central vapour-home of Dark,

Into the heart of the vast Desolate,

Lone flies the Dove before the lonely bark.

While the crown'd seeker of the glory-spell

Looks to the angel and disdains the hell.

Huddled on deck, one-half that hardy crew

Lie shrunk and wither'd in the biting sky,

With filmy stare and lips of livid hue,

And sapless limbs that stiffen as they lie:

While the dire pest-scourge of the frozen zone

Rots through the vein, and gnaws the knotted bone.

Yet still the hero-remnant, sires perchance

Of Rollo's Norman knighthood, dauntless steer

Along the deepening horror and advance

Upon the invisible foe, loud chanting clear

Some lusty song of Thor, the Hammer-God,

When o'er those iron seas the Thunderer trod,

And pierced the halls of Lok! Still while they sung,

The sick men lifted dim their languid eyes,

And palely smiled, and with convulsive tongue

Chimed to the choral chant, in hollow sighs;

Living or dying, those proud hearts the same

Swell to the danger, and foretaste the fame.

On, ever on, labours the lonely bark,

Time in that world seems dead. Nor jocund sun

Nor rosy Hesperus dawns; but visible Dark

Stands round the ghastly moon. For ever on

Labours the lonely bark, through lock'd defiles

That crisping coil around the drifting isles.

Honour, thrice honour unto ye, O Brave!

And ye, our England's sons, in the later day,

Whose valour to the shores of Hela gave

Names,— as the guides where suns deny the ray!

And, borne by hope and vivid strength of soul,

Made Man's last landmark Nature's farthest goal!

Whom, nor the unmoulded chaos, with its birth

Of uncouth monsters, nor the fierce disease,

Nor horrible famine, nor the Stygian dearth

Of Orcus dead'ning adamantine seas,

Scared from the Spirit's grand desire,— TO KNOW!

The Galileos of new worlds below!

Man the Discoverer — whosoe'er thou art,

Honour to thee from all the lyres of song!

Honour to him who leads to Nature's heart

One footstep nearer! To the Muse belong

All who enact what in the song we read;

Man's noblest poem is Man's bravest deed.

On, ever on,— when veering to the West

Into a broader desert leads the Dove;

A larger ripple stirs the ocean's breast,

A hazier vapour undulates above;

Along the ice-fields move the things that live,

Large in the life the misty glamours give.

In flocks the lazy walrus lay around

Gazing and stolid; while the dismal crane

Stalk'd curious near;— and on the hinder ground

Paused indistinct the Fenris of the main,

The insatiate bear,— to sniff the stranger blood,—

For Man till then had vanish'd since the flood,

And all of Man were fearless!— On the sea

The vast leviathans came up to breathe,

With their young giants leaping forth in glee,

Or leaving whirlpools where they sank beneath.

And round and round the bark the narwalsweeps,

With white horn glistening through the sluggish deeps.

Uprose a bold Norwegian, hunger-stung,

As near the icy marge a walrus lay,

Hurl'd his strong spear, and smote the beast, and sprung

Upon the frost-field on the wounded prey;—

Sprung and recoil'd — as writhing with the pangs,

The bulk crawl'd towards him with its flashing fangs.

Roused to fell life — around their comrade throng,

Snorting wild wrath, the shapeless, grisly swarms —

Like moving mounts slow masses trail along;

Aghast the man beholds the larva-forms —

Flies — climbs the bark — the deck is scaled — is won;

And all the monstrous march heaves lengthening on.

“Quick to your spears!” the kingly leader cries.

Spears flash on flashing tusks; groan the strong planks

With the assault: front after front they rise

With their brightstare; steel thins in vain their ranks,

And dyes with blood their birth-place and their grave;

Mass rolls on mass, as rolls on wave a wave.

These strike and rend the reeling sides below;

Those grappling clamber up and load the decks,

With looks of wrath so human on the foe,

They seem to horror like the mangled wrecks

Of what were men in worlds before the Ark!

Thus raged the immane and monster war — when, hark,

Crash'd through the dreary air a thunder peal!

In their slow courses meet two ice-rock isles

Clanging; the wide seas far-resounding reel;

The toppling ruin rolls in the defiles;

The pent tides quicken with the headlong shock:

Broad-billowing heave the long waves from the rock;

Far down the booming vales precipitous

Plunges the stricken galley,— as a steed

Smit by the shaft runs reinless,— o'er the prows

Howl the lash'd surges; Man and monster freed

By power more awful from the savage fray,

Here roaring sink — there dumbly whirl away.

The water runs in maelstroms;— as a reed

Spins in an eddy and then skirs along,—

Dragg'd round and round, emerged and vanished

The mighty ship amidst the mightier throng

Of the revolving hell. With abrupt spring

Bounding at last — on it shot maddening.

Behind it, thunderous swept the glacier masses,

Shivering and splintering, hurtling each on each:

Narrower and narrower press the frowning passes:—

Jamm'd in the farthest gorge the bark may reach,

Where the grim Scylla rocks the direful way,

The fierce Charybdis flings her mangled prey.

As if a living thing, in every part

The vessel groans — and with a dismal chime

Cracks to the cracking ice; asunder start

The brazen ribs:— and clogg'd and freezing, climb

Through cleft and chink, as through their native caves,

The gelid armies of the hardening waves.

One sigh whose lofty pity did embrace

The vanish'd many, the surviving few,

The Cymrian gave — then with a cheering face

He spoke, and breathed his soul into the crew:

“Ye whom the haught desire of Fame, whose air

Is storm, and tales of what your fathers were,

“What time their valour wrought such deeds below

As made the valiant lift them to the gods,

Impell'd with me to spare all meaner foe,

And vanquish'd Nature in the fiend's abodes;—

Droop not nor faint!— Reserved, perchance, to give

Themes to such song as bids your Odin live:—

“A voice from those now gone in darkness down,

Bids us endure!— Of all they ask'd in life

Our death would rob their lofty shades — RENOWN!

The wave hath pluck'd us from the monster strife,

Lo where the icebay frees us from the wave,

And yields a port in what we deem'd a grave!

“Up and at work all hands to lash the bark

With grappling-hook, and cord, and iron band

To yon firm peak, the Ararat of our ark,

Then with good heart pierce to the vapour-land;

For the crane's scream, and the bear's welcome roar

Tell where the wave joins solid to the shore.”

Swift as he spoke, the gallant Northmen sprang

On the sharp ice,— drew from the frozen blocks

The mangled wreck;— with many a barbed fang

And twisted cable to the horrent rocks

Moor'd: and then, shouting up the solitude

Their guiding star, the Dove's pale wing, pursued.

Round the dim bases of the glacier peaks,

They see the silvery Arctic fox at play,

Sure sign of land,— aloft with ghastly shrieks,

Wheel the wan sea-gulls, luring to his prey

The ravening glaucussudden shooting o'er

The din of wings from the gray gleaming shore.

At length they reach the land,— if land that be

Which seems so like the frost-piles of the deep,

That where commenced the soil and ceased the sea

Shows dim, as is the bound between the sleep

And waking of some wretch whose palsied brain

Dulls him to ev'n the slow return of pain.

Advancing farther, burst upon the eye

Patches of green miraculously isled

In the white desert. Oh! the rapture cry

That greeted God, and gladden'd through the wild!

The very sight suffices to restore,

Green Earth — green Earth — the Mother smiles once more!

Blithe from the turf the Dove the blessed leaves

That heal the slow plague of the sunless dearth

Bears to each sufferer whom the curse bereaves

Ev'n of all hope, save graves in that dear earth.

Woo'd by the kindly King they taste, to know

How to each ill God plants a cure below.

Long mused the anxious hero, if to dare

Once more the fearful sea — or from the bark

Shape ragged huts, and wait, slow-lingering there,

Till Eos issuing from the gates of Dark

Unlock the main? dread choice on either hand —

The liquid Acheron, or the Stygian land.

At length, resolved to seize the refuge given,

Once more he leads the sturdiest of the crew

Back to the wreck — the planks, asunder riven,

And such scant stores as yet the living few

May for new woes sustain, are shoreward borne;

And hasty axes shape the homes forlorn.

Now, every chink closed on the deathful air,

In the dark cells the weary labourers sleep;

Deaf to the fierce roar of the hungering bear,

And the dull thunders clanging on the deep —

Till on their waking sense the discords peal,

And to the numb hand cleaves unfelt the steel.

What boots long told the tale of life one war

With the relentless iron Element?

More, day by day, the mounting snows debar

Ev'n search for food,— yet oft the human scent

Lures the wild beast, which, mangling while it dies,

Bursts on the prey, to fall itself the prize!

But as the winter deepens, ev'n the beast

Shrinks from its breath, and with the loneliness

To Famine leaves the solitary feast.

Suffering halts patient in its last excess.

Closed in each tireless, lightless, foodless cave

Cowers a dumb ghost unconscious of its grave.

Nature hath stricken down in that waste world

All — save the Soul of Arthur! That, sublime,

Hung on the wings of heavenward faith unfurl'd,

O'er the far light of the predicted Time;

Believe thou hast a mission to fulfil,

And human valour grows a Godhead's will!

Calm to that fate above the moment given

Shall thy strong soul divinely dreaming go,

Unconscious as an eagle, entering heaven,

Where its still shadow skims the rooks below;

High beyond this, its actual world is wrought,

And its true life is in its sphere of thought.

Yet who can‘ scape the infection of the heart?

Who, though himself invulnerably steel'd,

Can boast a breast indifferent to the dart

That threats the life his love in vain would shield?

When some large nature, curious, we behold

How twofold comes it from the glorious mould!

How lone, and yet how living in the All!

When it imagines how aloof from men!

How like the ancestral Adam ere the fall,

In Eden bowers the painless denizen!

But when it feels — the lonely heaven resign'd —

How social moves the man among mankind!

Forth from the tomblike hamlet strays the King,

Restless with ills from which himself is free;

In that dun air the only living thing

He skirts the margin of the soundless sea;

No — not alone, the musing Wanderer strays;

For still the Dove smiles on the dismal ways.

Nor can tongue tell, nor thought conceive how far

Into that storm-beat heart, the gentle bird

Had built the halcyon's nest. How precious are

In desolate hours, the Affections!— How, unheard

Mid Noon's melodious myriads of delight,

Thrills the low note that steals the gloom from night!

And, in return, a human love replying

To his caress, seem'd in those eyes to dwell,

That mellow murmur, like a human sighing,

Seem'd from those founts that lie i’ the heart to swell.

Love wants not speech; from silence speech it builds,

Kindness like light speaks in the air it gilds.

That angel guide! His fate while leading on,

It follow'd each quick movement of his soul.

As the soft shadow from the setting sun

Precedes the splendour passing to its goal,

Before his path the gentle herald glides,

Its life reflected from the life it guides.

Was Arthur sad? how sadden'd seem'd the Dove!

Did Arthur hope? how gaily soar'd its wings!

Like to that sister spirit left above,

The half of ours, which, torn asunder, springs

Ever through space, yearning to join once more

The earthlier half, its own and Heaven's before;

Like an embodied living Sympathy

Which hath no voice and yet replies to all

That wakes the lightest smile, the faintest sigh,—

So did the instinct and the mystery thrall

To the earth's son the daughter of the air;

And pierce his soul — to place the sister there.

She was to him as to the bard his muse

The solace of a sweet confessional:

The hopes — the fears which manly lips refuse

To speak to man, those leaves of thought that fall

With every tremulous zephyr from the Tree

Of Life, whirl'd from us down the darksome sea;—

Those hourly springs and winters of the heart

Weak to reveal to Reason's sober eye,

The proudest yet will to the muse impart,

And grave in song the record of a sigh.

And hath the muse no symbol in the Dove?—

Both give what youth most miss'd in human love!

Over the world of winter strays the King,

Seeking some track of hope — some savage prey

Which, famish'd, fronts and feeds the famishing;

Or some dim outlet in the darkling way

From the dumb grave of snows which form with snows

Wastes wide as realms through which a spectre goes.

Amazed he halts:— Lo, on the rimy layer

That clothes sharp peaks — the print of human feet!

An awe thrill'd through him, and thus spoke in prayer,

“Thee, God, in man once more then do I greet?

Hast thou vouchsafed the brother to the brother,

Links which reweave thy children to each other?

“Be they the rudest of the clay divine,

Warm with the breath of soul, how faint so ever,

Yea, though their race but threat new ills to mine,

All hail the bond thy sons cannot dissever!

Bow'd to thy will, of life or death dispose,

But if not human friends, grant human foes!”

Thus while he pray'd, blithe from his bosom flew

The guiding Dove, along the frozen plain

Of a mute river, winding vale-like through

Rocks lost in vapour from the voiceless main.

And as the man pursues, more thickly seen,

The foot-prints tell where man before has been.

Sudden a voice — a yell, a whistling dart!

Dim through the fog, behold a dwarf-like band

( As from the inner earth, its goblins ) start;

Here threatening rush, there hoarsely gibbering stand!

Halts the firm hero; mild but undismay'd,

Grasps the charm'd hilt, but will not bare the blade.

And with a kingly gesture eloquent,

Seems to command the peace, not shun the fray;

Daunted they back recoil, yet not relent;

As Indians round the forest lord at bay,

Beyond his reach they form the deathful ring,

And every shaft is fitted to the string.

When in the circle a grand shape appears,

Day's lofty child amid those dwarfs of Night,

Ev'n through the hides of beasts ( its garb ) it rears

The glorious aspect of a son of light.

Hush'd at that presence was the clamouring crowd;

Dropp'd every hand and every knee was bow'd.

Forth stepp'd the man, advancing towards the King;

And his own language smote the Cymrian's ear,

“What fates, unhappy one, a stranger bring

To shores,” — he started, stopp'd,— and bounded near;

Gazed on that front august, a moment's space,—

Rush'd,— lock'd the wanderer in a long embrace;

Weeping and laughing in a breath, the cheek,

The lip he kiss'd — then kneeling, clasp'd the hand;

And gasping, sobbing, sought in vain to speak —

Meanwhile the King the beard-grown visage scann'd:

Amazed — he knew his Carduel's comely lord,

And the warm heart to heart as warm restored!

Speech came at length: first mindful of the lives,

Claiming his care and perill'd for his sake,

Not yet the account that love demands and gives

The generous leader paused to yield and take;

Brief words his follower's wants and woes explain;—

“Light, warmth, and food.— Sat verbum,” quoth Gawaine.

Quick to his wondering and Pigmaean troops —

Quick sped the Knight; he spoke and was obey'd;

Vanish once more the goblin-visaged groups

And soon return caparison'd for aid;

Laden with oil to warm and light the air,

Flesh from the seal, and mantles from the bear.

Back with impatient rapture bounds the King,

Smiling as he was wont to smile of yore;

While Gawaine, blithesome as a bird of spring,

Sends his sweet laughter ringing to the shore;

Pains through that maze of questions, “How and Why?”

And lost in joy stops never for reply.

Before them roved wild dogs too numb to bark,

Led by one civilized majestic hound,

Who scarcely deign'd his followers to remark,

Save, when they touch'd him, by a snarl profound;

Teaching that plebs, as history may my readers,

How curs are look'd on by patrician leaders.

Now gain'd the huts, silent with drowsy life,

That scarcely feels the quick restoring skill;

Train'd with stern elements to wage the strife,

The pigmy race are Nature's conquerors still.

With practised hands they chafe the frozen veins,

And gradual loose the chill heart from its chains;

Heap round the limbs the fur's thick warmth of fold,

And with the cheerful oil revive the air.

Slow wake the eyes of Famine to behold

The smiling faces and the proffer'd fare;

Rank though the food,‘ tis that which best supplies

The powers exhausted by the withering skies.

This done, they next the languid sufferers bear

( Wrapp'd from the cold ) athwart the vapoury shade,

Regain the vale, and show the homes that there

Art's earliest god, Necessity, hath made;

Abodes hewn out from winter, winter-proof,

Ice-blocks the walls, and hollow'd ice the roof!

Without, the snowy lavas, hard'ning o'er,

Hide from the beasts the buried homes of men,

But in the dome is placed the artful door

Through which the inmate gains or leaves the den.

Down through the chasm each lowers the living load,

Then from the winter seals the pent abode.

There ever burns, sole source of warmth and light,

The faithful lamp the whale or walrus gives,

Thus, Lord of Europe, in the heart of Night,

Unjoyous not, thy patient brother lives!

To thee desire, to him possession sent,

Thine worlds of wishes,— his that inch, Content!

But Gawaine's home, more dainty than the rest,

Betray'd his tastes exotic and luxurious

The walls of ice in furry hangings dress'd

Form'd an apartment elegant if curious!

Like some gigantic son of Major Ursa

Turn'd inside out by barbarous vice versa.

Here then he lodged his royal guest and friend,

And having placed a slice of seal before him,

Quoth he, “Thou ask'st me for my tale, attend;

Then give me thine, Heus renovo dolorem!”

Therewith the usage villanous and rough,

Schemed in cold blood by that malignant chough;

The fraudful dinner ( its dessert a wife );

The bridal roof with nose assaulting glaive;

The oak whose leaves with pinching imps were rife;

The atrocious trap into the Viking's cave;

The chief obdurate in his damn'd idea,

Of proving Freedom by a roast to Freya;

The graphic portrait of the Nuptial goddess;

And diabolic if symbolic spit;

The hierarch's heresy on types and bodies;

And how at last he posed and silenced it;

All facts traced clearly to that corvus niger,

Were told with pathos that had touch'd a tiger,

So far the gentle sympathising Nine

In dulcet strains have sung Sir Gawaine's woes;

What now remains they bid the historic line

With Dorian dryness unadorn'd disclose;

So counsel all the powers of fancy stretch,

Then leave the judge to finish off the wretch!

Along the beach Sir Gawaine and the hound

Roved all the night, and at the dawn of day

Came unawares upon a squadron bound

To fish for whales, arrested in a bay

For want of winds, which certain Norway hags

Had squeezed from heaven and bottled up in bags.

Straight when the seamen, fretting on the shore,

Behold a wanderer clad as Freya's priest,

They rush, and round him kneeling, they implore

The runes, by which the winds may be released:

The spurious priest a gracious answer made,

And told them Freya sent him to their aid;

Bade them conduct himself and hound on board,

And broil two portions of their choicest meat.

“The spell,” quoth he, “our sacred arts afford

To free the wind is in the food we eat;

We dine, and dining exorcise the witches,

And loose the bags from their infernal stitches.

“Haste then, my children, and dispel the wind;

Haste, for the bags are awfully inflating!”

The ship is gain'd. Both priest and dog have dined;

The crews assembled on the decks are waiting.

A heavier man arose the audacious priest,

And stately stepp'd he west and stately east!

Mutely invoked St. David and St. Bran

To charge a stout north-western with their blessing;

Then clear'd his throat and lustily began

A howl of vowels huge from Taliessin.

Prone fell the crews before the thundering tunes,

In words like mountains roll'd the enormous runes!

The excited hound, symphonious with the song,

Yell'd as if heaven and earth were rent asunder;

The rocks Orphean seem'd to dance along;

The affrighted whales plunged waves affrighted under;

Polyphlosboian, onwards booming bore

The deaf'ning, strident, rauque, Homeric roar!

As lions lash themselves to louder ire,

By his own song the Knight sublimely stung

Caught the full oestro of the poet's fire,

And grew more stunning every note he sung!

In each dread blast a patriot's soul exhales,

And Norway quakes before the storm of Wales.

Whether, as grateful Cymri should believe,

That blatant voice heroic burst the bags,

( For sure it might the caves of Boreas cleave

Much more the stitchwork of such losel hags! )

Or heaven, on any terms, resolved on peace;

The wind sprang up before the Knight would cease.

Never again hath singer heard such praise

As Gawaine heard; for never since hath song

Found out the secret how the wind to raise!—

Around the charmer now the seamen throng,

And bribe his blest attendance on their toil,

With bales of bear-skin and with tuns of oil.

Well pleased to leave the inhospitable shores,

The artful Knight yet slowly seem'd to yield.—

Now through the ocean plunge the brazen prores;

They pass the threshold of the world congeal'd;

Surprise the snorting mammoths of the main;

And pile the decks with Pelions of the slain.

When, in the midmost harvest of the spoil,

Pounce comes a storm unspeakably more hideous

Than that which drove upon the Lybian soil

Anchises’ son, the pious and perfidious,

When whooping Notus, as the Nine assure us,

Rush'd out to play with Africus and Eurus.

Torn each from each, or down the maelstrom whirl'd,

Or grasp'd and gulph'd by the devouring sea,

Or on the ribs of hurrying icebergs hurl'd,

The sunder'd vessels vanish momently.

Scarce through the blasts which swept his own, Gawaine

Heard the crew shrieking “Chant the runes again!”

Far other thoughts engaged the prescient knight,

Fast to a plank he lash'd himself and hound;

Scarce done, than, presto, shooting out of sight,

The enormous eddy spun him round and round,

Along the deck a monstrous wave had pour'd,

Caught up the plank and toss'd it overboard.

What of the ship became, saith history not.

What of the man — the man himself shall show.

“Like stone from sling,” quoth Gawaine, “I was shot

Into a ridge of what they call a floe,

There much amazed, but rescued from the waters,

Myself and hound took up our frigid quarters.

“Freed from the plank, drench'd, spluttering, stunn'd, and bruised,

We peer'd about us on the sweltering deep,

And seeing nought, and being much confused,

Crept side by side and nestled into sleep.

The nearest kindred most avoid each other,

So to shun Death, we visited his brother,

“Awaked at last, we found the waves had stranded

A store of waifs portentous and nefarious;

Here a dead whale was at my elbow landed,

There a sick polypus, that sea-Briareus,

Stretch'd out its claws to incorporate my corpus;

While howl'd the hound half buried by a porpoise!

“Nimbly I rose, disporpoising my friend;—

Around me scatter'd lay more piteous wrecks,

With every wave the accursed Tritons send

Some sad memento of submergent decks,

Prows, rudders, casks, ropes, blubber, hides, and hooks,

Sailors, salt beef, tubs, cabin boys, and cooks.

“Graves on the dead, with pious care bestow'd,

( Graves in the ice hewn out with mickle pain

By axe and bill, which with the waifs had flow'd

To that strange shore ) I next collect the gain;

Placed in a hollow cleft — and cover'd o'er;—

Then Knight and hound proceeded to explore.

“Far had we wander'd, for the storm had join'd

To a great isle of ice, our friend the floe,

When as the day ( three hours its length! ) declined,

Out bray'd a roar; I stared around, and lo

A flight of dwarfs about the size of sea-moths,

Chased by two bears that might have eat behemoths!

“Arm'd with the axe the Tritons had ejected,

I rush'd to succour the Pigmaean nation,

In strife our valour, I have oft suspected,

Proportions safety to intoxication,

As drunken men securely walk on walls

From which the wretch who keeps his senses falls;

“Let but the noble frenzy seize the brain,

And strength divine seems breathed into the form;

The rill when swollen swallows up a plain,

The breeze runs mad before it blows a storm;

To do great deeds, first lose your wits,— then do them!

In fine — I burst upon the bears, and slew them!

“The dwarfs, deliver'd, kneel, and pull their noses;

In tugs which mean to say‘ The Pigmy Nation

A vote of thanks respectfully proposes

From all the noses of the corporation!’

Your Highness knows‘ Magister Artis Venter:’

On signs for breakfast my replies concenter!

“Quick they conceive, and quick obey; the beasts

Are skinn'd, and drawn, and quarter'd in a trice,

But Vulcan leaves Diana to the feasts,

And not a wood-nymph consecrates the ice —

Bear is but so-so, when‘ tis cook'd the best,

But bear just skinn'd and perfectly undrest!

“Then I bethink me of the planks and casks

Stow'd in the cleft — for fuel quantum suff:

I draw the dwarfs — sore chattering, from their tasks,

Choose out the morsels least obdurely tough;

With these I load the Pigmies — bid them follow —

Regain the haven, and review the hollow.

“But when those minnow-men beheld the whale

It really was a spectacle affecting!

They shout, they sob, they leap — embrace the tail,

Peep in the jaws; then, round me re-collecting,

Draw forth these noselings from their hiding places,

Which serve as public speakers to their faces!

“While I revolve what this salute may mean,

They rush once more upon the poor balaena,

Clutch — rend — gnaw — bolt the blubber; but the lean

Reject as drying to the duodena!

This done,— my broil they aid me to obtain,

And, while I eat — the noses go again!

“My tale is closed — the grateful Pigmies lead

Myself and hound across the ice defiles;

Regain their people and recite my deed,

Describe the monsters and display the spoils;

With royal rank my feats the dwarfs repay,

And build the palace which you now survey!

“The vanquish'd bears are trophied on the wall;

The oil you scent once floated in the whale;

I had a vision to illume the hall

With lights less fragrant,— human hopes are frail!

With cares ingenious from the bruins’ fat,

I made some candles,— which the ladies ate!

“‘ Tis now your turn to tell the tale, Sir King,—

And by the way our comrade, Lancelot?

I hope he found a raven in the ring!

Monstrum horrendum!— Sire, I question not

That in your justice you have heard enough

When we get home — to crucify that chough!”

“Gawaine,” said Arthur, with his sunny smile,

“Methinks thy heart will soon absolve the raven,

Thy friend had perish'd in this icy isle

But for thy voyage to the Viking's haven,

In every ill which gives thee such offence,

Thou seest the raven, I the Providence!”

The Knight reluctant shook his learned head;

“So please you, Sire, you cannot find a thief

Who picks our pouch, but Providence hath led

His steps to pick it;— yet, to my belief,

There's not a judge who'd scruple to exhibit

That proof of Providence upon a gibbet!

“The chough was sent by Providence:— Agreed:

We send the chough to Providence, in turn!

Yet in the hound and not the chough, indeed,

Your friendly sight should Providence discern;

For had the hound been just a whit less nimble,

Thanks to the chough, your friend had been a symbol!”

“Thy logic,” answer'd Arthur, “is unsound,

But for the chough thou never had'st been married;

But for the wife thou ne'er hadst seen the hound;—

The Ab initio to the chough is carried:

The hound is but the effect — the chough the cause,”

The generous Gawaine murmur'd his applause.

“Do veniam Corvo! Sire, the chough's acquitted!”

“For Lancelot next,” quoth Arthur, “be at ease,

The task fulfill'd to which he was permitted,

The ring veer'd home — I left him on the seas.

Ere this, be sure he hails the Cymrian shore,

And gives to Carduel one great bulwark more.”

Then Arthur told of fair Genevra flying

From the scorn'd nuptials of the heathen fane;

Her Runic bark to his emprise supplying

The steed that bore him to the Northern main;

While she, with cheeks that blush'd and looks that fell,

Implored a Christian's home in Carduel.

The gentle King well versed in woman's heart,

And all the vestal thoughts that tend its shrine,

On Lancelot smiled — and answer'd, “Maid, depart;

Though o'er our roofs the thunder clouds combine,

Yet love shall guard, whatever war betide,

The Saxon's daughter — or the Cymrian's bride.”

A stately ship from glittering Spezia bore

To Cymrian ports the lovers from the King;

Then on, the Seeker of the Shield, once more,

With patient soul pursued the heavenly wing.

Wild though that crew, his heart enthralls their own;—

The great are kings wherever they are thrown.

Nought of that mystery which the Spirit's priest,

True Love, draws round the aisles behind the veil,

Could Arthur bare to that light joyous breast,—

Life hath its inward as its outward tale,

Our lips reveal our deeds,— our sufferings shun;

What we have felt, how few can tell to one!

The triple task — the sword not sought in vain,

The shield yet hidden in the caves of Lok,

Of these spoke Arthur,— “Certes,” quoth Gawaine,

When the King ceased — “strange legends of a rock

Where a fierce Dwarf doth guard a shield of light,

Oft have I heard my pigmy friends recite;

“Permit me now your royal limbs to wrap

In these warm relics of departed bears;

And while from Morpheus you decoy a nap,

My skill the grain shall gather from the tares.

The Pigmy tongue my erudite pursuits

Have traced ad unguem — to the nasal roots!”

Slumbers the King — slumber his ghastly crew:

How long they know not, guess not — night and dawn

Long since commingled in one livid hue:

Like that long twilight o'er the portals drawn,

Behind whose threshold spreads eternity!

When the sleep burst, and sudden in the sky

Stands the great Sun!— Like the first glorious breath

Of Freedom to the slave, like Hope upon

The hush of woe, or through the mists of death

A cheerful Angel — comes to earth the Sun!

Ice still on land — still vapour in the air,

But light — the victor Lord — but Light is there!

On siege-worn cities, when their war is spent,

From the far hill as, gleam on gleam, arise

The spears of some great aiding armament —

Grow the dim splendours, broadening up the skies,

Till bright and brighter, the sublime array

Flings o'er the world the banners of the Day!

Behold them where they kneel! the starry King,

The dwarfs of night, the giants of the sea!

Each with the other linked in solemn ring,

Too blest for words!— Man's sever'd Family,

All made akin once more beneath those eyes

Which on their Father smiled in Paradise!