The Soul of Osiris

20 THE SOUL OF OSIRIS. The mountains echo back to me The vengeful murmur of the sky ; All heaven and earth on me attend To prophesy the tyrant’s end. The gates are closed because of night, Whose heavy breath infects the air ; The dog-star gleams, a devilish light : I thought I saw behind me glare The eyes of fiends ; I thought I heard An evil laugh, a mocking word. The gates swing open at The Name, Without a warder roused from sleep ; I pass, with face of burning flame, That is not quenched, although I weep. (For even my tears are tears of fire, For loathing, madness, and desire.) Ah God ! the traps for fervent feet ! The morrow beaconed, and I came By where the golden groves of wheat In summer glories fiercely flame ; To those white courts, by princes trod, Where Ahab sat, and mocked at God. Where Ahab sat, but lo ! I saw No king, no tyrant to be curst ; But she, who filled me with blind awe, She, for whose blood my thin veins thirst ;