Collected Works (Vol. III)

56 ROSA MUNDI, AND OTHER LOVE-SONGS Il. THE NIGHTMARE, Up, up, my bride! Away to ride Upon the nightmare’s wings ! The livid lightning’s wine we'll drink, And laugh for joy of life, and think Unutterable things ! The gallant caught the lady fair Below the arms that lay Curling in coils of yellow hair, And kissed her lips. ‘‘ Away !” The lover caught his mistress up And lifted her to heaven, Drank from her lips as from the cup Of poppies drowsed at even. ‘* Away, away, my lady may! The wind is fair and free ; Away, away, the glint of day Is faded from the ghostly grey That shines beyond the sea.” The lordly bridegroom took the bride As giants grasp a flower. ‘A night of nights, my queen, to ride Beyond the midnight hour.” The bride still slept ; the lonely tide Of sleep was on the tower. ‘* Awake, awake ! for true love’s sake! The blood is pulsing faster. My swift veins burn with keen desire Toward those ebony wings of fire, The monarchs of disaster !” The golden bride awoke and sighed And looked upon her master. The bride was clad in spider-silk 5 The lord was spurred and shod. Her breasts gleamed bright and white as milk, Most like the mother of God ; His heart was shrouded, his face was clouded, Earth trembled where he trod. te ‘* By thy raven tresses ; by those caresses We changed these five hours past ; By the full red lips and the broad white brow I charge thee stay ; I am weary now; I would sleep again—at last.” ‘* By thy golden hair ; by the laughter rare Of love’s kiss conquering, By the lips full red and the ivory bed I charge thee come, I am fain instead Of the nightmare’s lordly wing !” The bride was sad and spoke no more. The tower erect and blind Rocked with the storm that smote it sore, The thunder of the wind. Swift to their feet the nightmare! drew And shook its gorgeous mane. ‘* Who rideth me shall never see His other life again. ‘*Who rideth me shall laugh and love In other ways than these.” “Mount, mount !”’ the gallant cried, “enough Of earthly ecstasies !” The pale bride caught his colour then: The pale bride laughed aloud, Fronting red madness in her den: “The bride-robe be my shroud! ‘¢ The bride-robe gave me light and clean To kisses’ nuptial gold. Now for a draught of madness keen ! The other lips are cold.” They mount the tameless thundering side; They sweep toward the lea ; The mare is wild; they spur, they ride, Mad master and hysteric bride, Along the lone grey sea. The pebbles flash, the waters shrink ! (So fearful are those wings !) The lightning stoops to let them drink. They see each other’s eyes, and think Unutterable things. 1 Night-mare has of course nothing to do with the horse, etymologically. Mare is from A.S. mara, an incubus.—A. C.