Tale of Archais

58 THE TALE OF ARCHAIS Its most unwieldy hulk was eaten through Of sharp-tongued serpents, and the poisonous dew That the foul damp let fall at evening Rotted 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 vitals ; 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 writing 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,