THE FATAL FORCE 41
A holy habitation for the shrine
Solitary, ’mid the night of broken brine
That foamed like starlight round the desolate shore.
So to the mine of that crystalline ore
Golden, the electric spark of man is drawn
Deep in the bosom of the world, to soar
New-fledged, an eagle to the dazzling dawn
With lidless eyes undazzled, to arise,
Son of the morning, to the Southern skies;
And fling its wild chant higher at the fall
Of even, and of bright Hyperion;
To mix its fire with dew, to call
The spirit of the limitless air, made one
In the amazing essence of all light
Limitless, emanation of the might
Of the great Light above all gods, the fire
Of our supreme desire.
So out of grievous labyrinths of the mind
The soul’s desire may find
Some passionate thread, the clear note of a bird,
To make the dark ways of the gods as light,
_ And bring forth music from slow chants unheard,
And visions from the fathomless night.
So is the spirit of the loftier man
Made holy and most strong against his fate;
So is the desolate visage of the wan
Lord of Amenti covered, and the gate
Of Ra made perfect. So the waters flow
Over the earth, throughout the sea,
Till all its deserts glow,