Collected Works (Vol. I)

THE TALE OF ARCHAITS 17 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 be- trayed 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 Thrust up by magic, in the direst pangs Of Earth, when Earth was yet a whirling cloud Of fire and adamant, a ceaseless crowd Of rushing atoms roaring into space, Driven by demons from before the Face. And these gleamed white, while Flelios lit the heaven, Like tusks; but at the coming of the even Were visions wonderful with indigo ; And in the glory of the afterglow Were rosy with its kiss ; and in the night Were crowned with that unutterable light That is a brilliance of solemn black, Glistening wide across the ocean track Of white-sailed ships and many mariners. So, on the tallest spire, where wakes and whirrs The eagle when dawn strikes his eyrie, came The maiden, clad in the abundant flame Of setting sun, with shapely shoulders bare, And even the glory of her midday hair Was bound above her head ; so, naked pure, Fixed in that purpose, which the gods endure With calm despair, the purpose to be passed Into the circle, that, serene and vast, Girds all, and is itself the All—to die— So stood she there, with eyes of victory Fixed on the sun, about to sink his rays Beneath the ocean, that the pallid bays Fringed with white foam. But, as in pity, yet The sun forgot his chariot, nor would set, VOL. I. Since as he sank the maiden thought to leap Within the bosom of the vaulted deep From that high pedestal. And seeing this, That yet an hour was left her, Archais Lift up her voice and prayed with zeal divine To Aphrodite, who from her far shrine Heard and flew fast to aid over the night-clad brine. PRAYER OF ARCHAIS. O Mother of Love, By whom the earth and allits fountains move In harmony, Hear thou the bitter overwhelming cry Of me, who love, who am about to die Because of love. O Queenliest Shrine, Keeper of keys of heaven, most divine Yet Queen of Pain, Since Hell’s gates open, and close fast again Behind some servants of thy barren and vain Though queenliest shrine. I am of those Who hear their brazen clanging as they close Fastward on life. I wane to-night, wearied with endless strife, A lover alway, never yet a wife, Lost in love’s woes. Not unperceived of Cypris did her song Die fitfully upon her tremulous tongue, Nor fell the melody on cruel ears: The bright-throat goddess sped through many spheres Of sight, beyond the world, and flamed across All space, on wings that not the albatross Might match for splendour, stretch, or airy speed, T'rom cluster unto cluster at her need Of stars, wide waving, and from star to star Extended, in whose span the heavens are. So came she to the maiden, and unseen Gazed on her rapt. So sighed the amorous queen