Tale of Archais

86 THE TALE OF ARCHAIS Seamed with wounds, like adamant, shod with iron, Torn by the earthquake. Still through all the stresses of doubtful weather Hold the firm old pinnacles, sky-defying, Still the icy feet of the wind relentless Walk in their meadows. Fields that flower not, blossom in no new spring- tide ; Fields where grass nor herb nor abounding darnel Flourish ; fields more barren, devoid, than ocean’s Pasture ungarnered. Deserts, stone as arid as sand, savannahs Black with wrecks, a wilderness evil, fruitless ; Still, to me, a land of the bluest heaven Studded with silver. Castles bleak and bare as the wrath of ocean, Wasted wall and tower, as the blast had risen, Taken keep and donjon, and hurled them earth- ward, Rent and uprooted.