60 
THE TALE OF ARCHAIS 
Likewise to change.  The writhled visage grew 
Fouler and fiercer, blacker in its hue ; 
The skewed deformities became more vile, 
The rags more rotten, till a little while, 
And all was changed to a putrescent heap 
Of oily liquid on the floor asleep, 
Like poisonous potency of mandragore 
Ready to strike.  And then a change came 
o’er 
Its turbid mass, that shook, and grew divine, 
A million-twinkling ocean of bright brine 
That seemed to spread beyond the horizon, 
Whence, stirred by strange emotions of the sun, 
Waves rolled upon it, and a wind arose 
And lashed it with insatiable blows 
Into a surging labyrinth of foam, 
Boiling up into heaven’s unchanging dome 
Of brightest aether ;  then, its womb uncloses 
To bring to birth a garden of white roses, 
Whence, on a mystic shell of pearl, is borne 
A goddess, bosomed like the sea at morn, 
Glittering in all the goodlihead and grace 
Of maiden magic ;  her delicious face 
Grew more and more upon the hero’s sight, 
Till all the hut was filled with rosy light,