THE HOLY PLACE. 
95 
 
 
 
 
 
 
THE EVOCATION. 
 
 
ROM the abyss, the horrible lone world 
 Of agony, more sharp than moonbeams strike 
The shaken glacier, my bitter cry is hurled, 
As the avenger lightning.  Swiftly whirled, 
 It flings in circles closing serpent-like 
On the abominable devil-horde 
I summon to the mastery of the sword. 
 
In my white palace, where the flashing dawn 
 Leaps from the girdling bastions, where the light 
Flames from the talisman as if a fawn 
Glode through the thickets, where the soul, withdrawn 
 From every element, gleams through the night 
Into that darkness palpable, where They 
Lurk from the torment of the light of day. 
 
Swings the swift sword in paths of vivid blue ; 
 Rings the sharp summons in the halls of fear ; 
Flames the great lamen ;  as a fiery dew 
Falls the keen chanted music ;  fierce and true 
 Beams the bright diamond of the crowning sphere. 
None may withstand the summons :  like dead flame 
Flares darkness deeper, and demands its name. 
 
  F