THE TALE OF ARCHAIS 
25 
And drives them down the steep of Hell.  But 
dim 
Sweet faces of dead maidens drew to him ; 
Quiet woods and streams and all the mountains 
tall, 
Cool valleys, silver-streaked with waterfall, 
Came in his slumbers, chaste and musical, 
While through their maze his mind beheld afar 
Dim and divine, Archais, like a star. 
 
It was no dream, or else the growing dawn 
Deepened the glory of the misted lawn, 
For to his eyes, half open now, there seems 
A figure, fairer than his dearest dreams. 
He sprang, he caught her to his breast, the 
maid 
Smiled and lay back to look at him.  He laid 
Her tender body on the sloping field, 
And felt her sighs in his embraces yield 
A sweeter music than all birds.  But she, 
Lost in the love she might not know, may see 
No further than his face, and yet, aware 
Of her own fate, resisted like a snare 
Her own soft wishes.  As she looked and saw 
His eager face, the iron rod of law