Oracles

I52 THE EARL’S QUEST Or (Still more terrible !) the lost dread ode That used to all the dead knights to their chief To the lone waters from the shadowy road. So deemed the weary Earl of the wind’s grief, And seemed to see about him form by form Like mighty wrecks, wave-shattered on a reef, Moulded and mastered by the shapeless storm A thousand figures of himself the mist Enlarged, distorted : yet without a qualm (So miserable was he) he mounted the last twist Of the path’s hate, and faced the wind, and saw The lead gleam to a surly amethyst As the sun dipped, and Night put forth a paw Like a black panther’s, and efface the East. Then, with a sudden inward catch of awe As if behind him sprang some silent beast, So shuddered he, and spurred his horse, and found A black path towards the water ; he released The bridle ; so the way went steep, ill bound On an accursed task, so dark it loomed Amid its yews and cypresses, each mound About each root, a grave, where Hell entombed A vampire till the night broke sepulchre And all its phantoms desperate and doomed