Collected Works (Vol. I)

THE TALE OF ARCHAIS 19 The large-lipped drawn-out grinning of that court That mouthed and gibbered in their swinish sport. So with meet words of gratitude the dame That rules our lives withdrew, triumphant flame Kindling in her bright eyes and sunwarmed hair, Burning in dawny cheeks as the fresh air Kissed, cleansing them from that infested den Of obscene deities and apish men, Rivalling their gods in petty filthiness. So Love’s white-bosomed Queen gat full success In the first season of her sojourning. Then, on the verge of night, she went a-wing To that most damnéd pestilence-rid marsh, And, changing her bright shape, she donned the harsh Vile form of woman past the middle age, Who hath not virtue that may charm the sage When the desire of folly is gone by, And wrinkles yield to no false alchemy. So, lewd of countenance, dressed all in rags, She waited, fit mate ofhell's filthiest hags, Within a little hut upon the marge Extreme of that bad swamp, whereby a barge, Rotted with years and pestilence, lay moored. The rusty chain men meant to have secured Its most unwieldy hulk was eaten through Of sharp-tongued serpents, and the poisonous dew That the foul damp let fall at evening Kotted it even to its core. A ring Of silver girt it to the landing-stage, Yet brimstone joined in wedlock with foul age To burn into its vitals3 thus the breath Of Satyrs wantoning at noon with Death Strained it, and all but cast it loose; the night Drew on the outer world ; no change of light Was known within those depths, but vermin knew By some strange instinct; forth the unholy crew Of vampires and swamp-adders drew them out. Alone amid the pestilential rout Charicles’ crest did glimmer red with wrath, And, stealing from the barge, he drew him forth And writhed into the hut, for latterly So dark his soul had grown that never he For shame and sorrow wore the form of man. So to the hut on writhing coils he ran With angry head erect, and passed within Its rotten doorway. Then the thing of Sin That mocked the name of woman fondled him, Stroked his flaf head, his body curved and slim, And from the fire brought milk. He drank it up From the coarse pewter of the borrowed cup And cried: ‘‘Jn eating, swear. JI have vowed to make The gods infernal on their couches quake With fear before I die; I have vowed to live With one aim only; never to forgive The wrong the gods do me, and in my form Love his high self, by whom the earth is warm To-day, by whose defiance the universe Would crash in one inextricable curse To primal chaos. Ilear me, I have sworn.” Then, suddenly, more glorious than the morn Tipping the golden tops of autumn hills With light, more countless than the myriad rills Of bright dew running off the bracken leaves, With gold more saturated than the sheaves In the red glow that promises the day Shall glory when the night is fled away In bonds, a caplive ; so more glorious Than the supreme ideal dreams of us Mortals, he sprang forth suddenly a man. Wherefore the hag, triumphant, then began Likewise to change. The writhled visage Orcew Fouler and fiercer, blacker in its hue; The skewed deformities became more vile, The rags more rotten, till a little while,