Tale of Archais

44 THE TALE OF ARCHAIS For anything but to discover him, And her large eyes with weeping grew more dim Than are the mists of Autumn on the hills. She sought him far and near ; the rocks and rills Could tell her nought ; the murmur of the trees Told her their pity and no more ; the breeze That cooled its burning locks within the sea, And dared not pass o’er the dank swamps where he Was hid, knew nothing ; nor the soughing waves, Through all the desolation of those caves The sea-nymphs haunt, could say a word of him ; No stars, to whom she looked, had seen the grim Abodes of Charicles, for deadly shade Lowered o’er their top, nor any light betrayed The horror of their core. Despairing then Of nature’s prophets, and of gods and men, She cast her arms wide open to the sky, Cried loud, and wept, and girt herself to die. It was a pinnacle of ivory Whereon she stood, the loftiest of three fangs