Tale of Archais

60 THE TALE OF ARCHAIS Likewise to change. The writhled visage grew Fouler and fiercer, blacker in its hue ; The skewed deformities became more vile, The rags more rotten, till a little while, And all was changed to a putrescent heap Of oily liquid on the floor asleep, Like poisonous potency of mandragore Ready to strike. And then a change came o’er Its turbid mass, that shook, and grew divine, A million-twinkling ocean of bright brine That seemed to spread beyond the horizon, Whence, stirred by strange emotions of the sun, Waves rolled upon it, and a wind arose And lashed it with insatiable blows Into a surging labyrinth of foam, Boiling up into heaven’s unchanging dome Of brightest aether ; then, its womb uncloses To bring to birth a garden of white roses, Whence, on a mystic shell of pearl, is borne A goddess, bosomed like the sea at morn, Glittering in all the goodlihead and grace Of maiden magic ; her delicious face Grew more and more upon the hero’s sight, Till all the hut was filled with rosy light,