Collected Works (Vol. I)

122 MYSTERIES: LYRICAL AND DRAMATIC A SONNET OF BLASPHEMY. EXALTED over earth, from hell arisen, There sits a woman, ruddy with the flame Of men’s blood spilt, and her uncleanly shame, And the thrice-venomous vomit of her prison. She sits as one long dead: infernal calm, Chill hatred,- wrap her in their poisonous cold. She careth not, but doth disdainly hold Three scourges for man’s soul, that know no balm. They know not any cure. The first is Life, A well of poison. Sowing dust and dung Over men’s hearts, the second scourge, abuve All shameful deeds, is Lying, from whose tongue Drops Envy, wed with Hatred, to sow Strife. These twain are bitter; but the last is Love. THE RAPE OF DEATH. ARGUMENT.—Sir Godfrey, a knight of Nor- mandy, leapeth into a light vessel of Jarl Hungard, while they sit at feast, and, slay- ing the crew, seeketh the high seas with the Lady Thurla. He slayeth the swiftest pur- suers, and escapeth in a great tempest ; which on the second day abating, he maketh the inside of a bar, and must await the breeze. Jarl Hungard coming with his men and two dragons, is wrecked, but a knave shooting, slayeth the Lady Thurla. Sir Godfrey forth- with sinketh the other dragon, and saileth forth into the ocean, and is not heard of ever after.! PALE vapours lie like phantoms on the sea, The tide swells slumberous beneath our keel, The pulses of our canvas fail; and we 1 The argument is not founded on tradition. No faint sweet summons from the south wind feel: The crimson waters of the west are pale, And bloodless arrows like a stream of steel Flash from the moon, that rises where the gale Only a day past raged ; the clouds are lost In pleasant rains that ripple on the sail. The sudden fascination of the frost Touches the heavy canvas; now there form Reluctant crystals, and the vessel, tossed The wild night through in the devouring storm, Glistens with dew made sharp and bright with cold. For no north wind may drive us to the warm Long-looked-for lands where day, with plumes of gold, Flaps like a lazy eagle in the air; Where night, a bird of prey divinely bold, Wings through the sky, intangible but fair, And pale with subtle passion; and no wind Turns our prow southward, till the canvas bear No more up into it, but still behind Follow like flame, and lead our love along Into the valleys of the ocean, blind, But seeing all the world awake with song Of many lyres and lutes and reeds of straw, And all the rivers musical that throng In bright assemblage of unchanging law, Like many flute-players ; and seeing this, (That all the mountains looked upon and saw) The sweetness of the savour of a kiss, And all its perfume wafted to the sky. Nay, but no wind will drive our fortalice