Sunrise. Golden arrows dart
Through the pallid ranks of mist
Till they redden as with wounds
And dissolve in shining light.
Now hath triumph come to Day
And the gleaming conqueror
In his blinding glory treads
O'er the ridges and the peaks.
All the merry bands of birds
Twitter in their hidden nests,
And the scent of plants arises
Like a psalm of odours rare.
At the early glint of day
Down the valley we had gone.
While Lascaro dumb and dour
Followed up the bear-tracks dim,
I with musings sought to slay
Time, but tired soon I grew
Of my musings,--drear, ah, drear!
Were my thoughts and void of joy.
Weary, joyless, down I sank
On a bank of softest moss
'Neath a great and kingly ash
Where a little spring gushed forth.
This with wondrous voice beguiled
All my wayward mood until
Thought and thinking vanished both
In the music of the spring.
Mighty longings seized me then,
Madness, dreams and death-desires,
Longings for those splendid queens
Riding in that ghostly throng.
Oh, ye lovely shapes of night,
Banished by the rose of dawn,
Whither, tell me, have ye fled,
Whither have ye flown by day?
Somewhere 'neath old temple-ruins
In the wide Romagna hid,
It is said Diana flees
The dominion of the Christ.
Only in the midnight gloom,
Dare she venture forth, but then
How she joys the merry chase
And the pagan sports of old!
Fay Abunda also fears
All these sallow Nazarenes,
So by day she hides herself
Deep in secret Avalon.
For this sacred island lies
In the still and silent sea
Of Romanticism, whither
None save wingèd steeds may go.
There no anchor Care may drop,
Never there do steamships touch,
Bringing loads of Philistines
With tobacco-pipes, to stare.
Never does that dismal, dull
Ring of bells this stillness break--
That atrocious bumm-bamm sound
Which all gentle fairies hate.
There, abloom with lasting youth
In unbroken joyfulness,
Lives that merry-hearted dame,
Golden-locked Abunda fair.
Laughing there she strolls between
Huge sun-flowers drenched with light,
Followed by her retinue
Of unworldly Paladins.
Ah, but thou, Herodias,
Say, where art thou? Ah, I know!
Thou art dead and buried deep
By Jerusholayim's walls!
Corpse-like is thy sleep by day
In thy marble coffin laid,
But at midnight dost thou wake
To the crack of whips! hurrah!
With Abunda, Dian, too,
Dost thou join the headlong plunge
And the blithesome hunter rout
Fleeing from all cross and care.
What companions rare and blithe!
Might but I, Herodias,
Ride at night through forests dark,
I would gallop at thy side!
For of all I love thee most!
More than any goddess Grecian,
More than any northern fay,
Do I love thee, Jewess dead!
Yea, I love thee most! 'Tis true,
By the trembling of my soul!
Love me too and be my sweet,--
Loveliest Herodias!
Love me too and be my love!
Fling that gory block-head far
With its trencher. Sweeter dishes
I shall give thee to enjoy.
Am not I thy proper knight
Whom thou seekest? What care I
If perchance thou'rt dead and damned--
Prejudices I have none!
Is my own salvation not
In a parlous state? And oft
Do I question if my life
Still be linked with human lives.
Take me, take me as thy knight,
Thine own _cavalier servente_;
I will bear thy silken robe
And each wayward mood of thine.
Every night beside thee, love,
With this crazy horde I'll ride,
And we'll kiss and thou shalt laugh
At my quips and merry pranks.
I will help thee speed the hours
Of the night. And yet by day
All my joy shall pass;--in tears
I shall sit upon thy grave.
Aye, by day will I sit down
In the dust of kingly vaults,
At the grave of my belovèd
By Jerusholayim's walls!
Then the grey Jews passing by
Will imagine that I mourn
The destruction of thy temple
And thy gates, Jerusholayim.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]