II

I.When the South sang like a nightingaleAbove a bower in May,The training of Love's vine of flameWas writ in laws, for lord and dameTo say their yea and nay.II.When the South sang like a nightingaleAcross the flowering night,And lord and dame held gentle sport,There came a young princess to Court,A frost of beauty white.III.The South sang like a nightingaleTo thaw her glittering dream:No vine of Love her bosom gave,She drank no wine of Love, but graveShe held them to Love's theme.IV.The South grew all a nightingaleBeneath a moon unmoved:Like the banner of war she led them on;She left them to lie, like the light that has goneFrom wine-cups overproved.V.When the South was a fervid nightingale,And she a chilling moon,'Twas pity to see on the garden swards,Against Love's laws, those rival lordsAs willow-wands lie strewn.VI.The South had throat of a nightingaleFor her, the young princess:She gave no vine of Love to rear,Love's wine drank not, yet bent her earTo themes of Love no less.

When the South sang like a nightingaleAbove a bower in May,The training of Love's vine of flameWas writ in laws, for lord and dameTo say their yea and nay.

When the South sang like a nightingale

Above a bower in May,

The training of Love's vine of flame

Was writ in laws, for lord and dame

To say their yea and nay.

II.

When the South sang like a nightingaleAcross the flowering night,And lord and dame held gentle sport,There came a young princess to Court,A frost of beauty white.

When the South sang like a nightingale

Across the flowering night,

And lord and dame held gentle sport,

There came a young princess to Court,

A frost of beauty white.

III.

The South sang like a nightingaleTo thaw her glittering dream:No vine of Love her bosom gave,She drank no wine of Love, but graveShe held them to Love's theme.

The South sang like a nightingale

To thaw her glittering dream:

No vine of Love her bosom gave,

She drank no wine of Love, but grave

She held them to Love's theme.

IV.

The South grew all a nightingaleBeneath a moon unmoved:Like the banner of war she led them on;She left them to lie, like the light that has goneFrom wine-cups overproved.

The South grew all a nightingale

Beneath a moon unmoved:

Like the banner of war she led them on;

She left them to lie, like the light that has gone

From wine-cups overproved.

When the South was a fervid nightingale,And she a chilling moon,'Twas pity to see on the garden swards,Against Love's laws, those rival lordsAs willow-wands lie strewn.

When the South was a fervid nightingale,

And she a chilling moon,

'Twas pity to see on the garden swards,

Against Love's laws, those rival lords

As willow-wands lie strewn.

VI.

The South had throat of a nightingaleFor her, the young princess:She gave no vine of Love to rear,Love's wine drank not, yet bent her earTo themes of Love no less.

The South had throat of a nightingale

For her, the young princess:

She gave no vine of Love to rear,

Love's wine drank not, yet bent her ear

To themes of Love no less.

I.The lords of the Court they sighed heart-sick,Heart-free Lord Dusiote laughed:I prize her no more than a fling o' the dice,But, or shame to my manhood, a lady of ice,We master her by craft!II.Heart-sick the lords of joyance yawned,Lord Dusiote laughed heart-free:I count her as much as a crack o' my thumb,But, or shame of my manhood, to me she shall comeLike the bird to roost in the tree!III.At dead of night when the palace-guardHad passed the measured rounds,The young princess awoke to feelA shudder of blood at the crackle of steelWithin the garden-bounds.IV.It ceased, and she thought of whom was need,The friar or the leech;When lo, stood her tirewoman breathless by:Lord Dusiote, madam, to death is nigh,Of you he would have speech.V.He prays you of your gentleness,To light him to his dark end.The princess rose, and forth she went,For charity was her intent,Devoutly to befriend.VI.Lord Dusiote hung on his good squire's arm,The priest beside him knelt:A weeping handkerchief was pressedTo stay the red flood at his breast,And bid cold ladies melt.VII.O lady, though you are ice to men,All pure to heaven as lightWithin the dew within the flower,Of you 'tis whispered that love has powerWhen secret is the night.VIII.I have silenced the slanderers, peace to their souls!Save one was too cunning for me.I die, whose love is late avowed,He lives, who boasts the lily has bowedTo the oath of a bended knee.IX.Lord Dusiote drew breath with pain,And she with pain drew breath:On him she looked, on his like above;She flew in the folds of a marvel of love,Revealed to pass to death.X.You are dying, O great-hearted lord,You are dying for me, she cried;O take my hand, O take my kiss,And take of your right for love like this,The vow that plights me bride.XI.She bade the priest recite his wordsWhile hand in hand were they,Lord Dusiote's soul to waft to bliss;He had her hand, her vow, her kiss,And his body was borne away.

The lords of the Court they sighed heart-sick,Heart-free Lord Dusiote laughed:I prize her no more than a fling o' the dice,But, or shame to my manhood, a lady of ice,We master her by craft!

The lords of the Court they sighed heart-sick,

Heart-free Lord Dusiote laughed:

I prize her no more than a fling o' the dice,

But, or shame to my manhood, a lady of ice,

We master her by craft!

II.

Heart-sick the lords of joyance yawned,Lord Dusiote laughed heart-free:I count her as much as a crack o' my thumb,But, or shame of my manhood, to me she shall comeLike the bird to roost in the tree!

Heart-sick the lords of joyance yawned,

Lord Dusiote laughed heart-free:

I count her as much as a crack o' my thumb,

But, or shame of my manhood, to me she shall come

Like the bird to roost in the tree!

III.

At dead of night when the palace-guardHad passed the measured rounds,The young princess awoke to feelA shudder of blood at the crackle of steelWithin the garden-bounds.

At dead of night when the palace-guard

Had passed the measured rounds,

The young princess awoke to feel

A shudder of blood at the crackle of steel

Within the garden-bounds.

IV.

It ceased, and she thought of whom was need,The friar or the leech;When lo, stood her tirewoman breathless by:Lord Dusiote, madam, to death is nigh,Of you he would have speech.

It ceased, and she thought of whom was need,

The friar or the leech;

When lo, stood her tirewoman breathless by:

Lord Dusiote, madam, to death is nigh,

Of you he would have speech.

He prays you of your gentleness,To light him to his dark end.The princess rose, and forth she went,For charity was her intent,Devoutly to befriend.

He prays you of your gentleness,

To light him to his dark end.

The princess rose, and forth she went,

For charity was her intent,

Devoutly to befriend.

VI.

Lord Dusiote hung on his good squire's arm,The priest beside him knelt:A weeping handkerchief was pressedTo stay the red flood at his breast,And bid cold ladies melt.

Lord Dusiote hung on his good squire's arm,

The priest beside him knelt:

A weeping handkerchief was pressed

To stay the red flood at his breast,

And bid cold ladies melt.

VII.

O lady, though you are ice to men,All pure to heaven as lightWithin the dew within the flower,Of you 'tis whispered that love has powerWhen secret is the night.

O lady, though you are ice to men,

All pure to heaven as light

Within the dew within the flower,

Of you 'tis whispered that love has power

When secret is the night.

VIII.

I have silenced the slanderers, peace to their souls!Save one was too cunning for me.I die, whose love is late avowed,He lives, who boasts the lily has bowedTo the oath of a bended knee.

I have silenced the slanderers, peace to their souls!

Save one was too cunning for me.

I die, whose love is late avowed,

He lives, who boasts the lily has bowed

To the oath of a bended knee.

IX.

Lord Dusiote drew breath with pain,And she with pain drew breath:On him she looked, on his like above;She flew in the folds of a marvel of love,Revealed to pass to death.

Lord Dusiote drew breath with pain,

And she with pain drew breath:

On him she looked, on his like above;

She flew in the folds of a marvel of love,

Revealed to pass to death.

You are dying, O great-hearted lord,You are dying for me, she cried;O take my hand, O take my kiss,And take of your right for love like this,The vow that plights me bride.

You are dying, O great-hearted lord,

You are dying for me, she cried;

O take my hand, O take my kiss,

And take of your right for love like this,

The vow that plights me bride.

XI.

She bade the priest recite his wordsWhile hand in hand were they,Lord Dusiote's soul to waft to bliss;He had her hand, her vow, her kiss,And his body was borne away.

She bade the priest recite his words

While hand in hand were they,

Lord Dusiote's soul to waft to bliss;

He had her hand, her vow, her kiss,

And his body was borne away.

I.Lord Dusiote sprang from priest and squire;He gazed at her lighted room:The laughter in his heart grew slack;He knew not the force that pushed him backFrom her and the morn in bloom.II.Like a drowned man's length on the strong flood-tide,Like the shade of a bird in the sun,He fled from his lady whom he might claimAs ghost, and who made the daybeams flameTo scare what he had done.III.There was grief at Court for one so gay,Though he was a lord less keenFor training the vine than at vintage-press;But in her soul the young princessBelieved that love had been.IV.Lord Dusiote fled the Court and land,He crossed the woeful seas,Till his traitorous doing seemed clearer to burn,And the lady beloved drew his heart for return,Like the banner of war in the breeze.V.He neared the palace, he spied the Court,And music he heard, and they toldOf foreign lords arrived to bringThe nuptial gifts of a bridegroom kingTo the princess grave and cold.VI.The masque and the dance were cloud on wave,And down the masque and the danceLord Dusiote stepped from dame to dame,And to the young princess he came,With a bow and a burning glance.VII.Do you take a new husband to-morrow, lady?She shrank as at prick of steel.Must the first yield place to the second, he sighed.Her eyes were like the grave that is wideFor the corpse from head to heel.VIII.My lady, my love, that little handHas mine ringed fast in plight:I bear for your lips a lawful thirst,And as justly the second should follow the first,I come to your door this night.IX.If a ghost should come a ghost will go:No more the lady said,Save that ever when he in wrath beganTo swear by the faith of a living man,She answered him, You are dead.

Lord Dusiote sprang from priest and squire;He gazed at her lighted room:The laughter in his heart grew slack;He knew not the force that pushed him backFrom her and the morn in bloom.

Lord Dusiote sprang from priest and squire;

He gazed at her lighted room:

The laughter in his heart grew slack;

He knew not the force that pushed him back

From her and the morn in bloom.

II.

Like a drowned man's length on the strong flood-tide,Like the shade of a bird in the sun,He fled from his lady whom he might claimAs ghost, and who made the daybeams flameTo scare what he had done.

Like a drowned man's length on the strong flood-tide,

Like the shade of a bird in the sun,

He fled from his lady whom he might claim

As ghost, and who made the daybeams flame

To scare what he had done.

III.

There was grief at Court for one so gay,Though he was a lord less keenFor training the vine than at vintage-press;But in her soul the young princessBelieved that love had been.

There was grief at Court for one so gay,

Though he was a lord less keen

For training the vine than at vintage-press;

But in her soul the young princess

Believed that love had been.

IV.

Lord Dusiote fled the Court and land,He crossed the woeful seas,Till his traitorous doing seemed clearer to burn,And the lady beloved drew his heart for return,Like the banner of war in the breeze.

Lord Dusiote fled the Court and land,

He crossed the woeful seas,

Till his traitorous doing seemed clearer to burn,

And the lady beloved drew his heart for return,

Like the banner of war in the breeze.

He neared the palace, he spied the Court,And music he heard, and they toldOf foreign lords arrived to bringThe nuptial gifts of a bridegroom kingTo the princess grave and cold.

He neared the palace, he spied the Court,

And music he heard, and they told

Of foreign lords arrived to bring

The nuptial gifts of a bridegroom king

To the princess grave and cold.

VI.

The masque and the dance were cloud on wave,And down the masque and the danceLord Dusiote stepped from dame to dame,And to the young princess he came,With a bow and a burning glance.

The masque and the dance were cloud on wave,

And down the masque and the dance

Lord Dusiote stepped from dame to dame,

And to the young princess he came,

With a bow and a burning glance.

VII.

Do you take a new husband to-morrow, lady?She shrank as at prick of steel.Must the first yield place to the second, he sighed.Her eyes were like the grave that is wideFor the corpse from head to heel.

Do you take a new husband to-morrow, lady?

She shrank as at prick of steel.

Must the first yield place to the second, he sighed.

Her eyes were like the grave that is wide

For the corpse from head to heel.

VIII.

My lady, my love, that little handHas mine ringed fast in plight:I bear for your lips a lawful thirst,And as justly the second should follow the first,I come to your door this night.

My lady, my love, that little hand

Has mine ringed fast in plight:

I bear for your lips a lawful thirst,

And as justly the second should follow the first,

I come to your door this night.

IX.

If a ghost should come a ghost will go:No more the lady said,Save that ever when he in wrath beganTo swear by the faith of a living man,She answered him, You are dead.

If a ghost should come a ghost will go:

No more the lady said,

Save that ever when he in wrath began

To swear by the faith of a living man,

She answered him, You are dead.

I.The soft night-wind went laden to deathWith smell of the orange in flower;The light leaves prattled to neighbour ears;The bird of the passion sang over his tears;The night named hour by hour.II.Sang loud, sang low the rapturous birdTill the yellow hour was nigh,Behind the folds of a darker cloud:He chuckled, he sobbed, alow, aloud;The voice between earth and sky.III.O will you, will you, women are weak;The proudest are yielding matesFor a forward foot and a tongue of fire:So thought Lord Dusiote's trusty squire,At watch by the palace-gates.IV.The song of the bird was wine in his blood,And woman the odorous bloom:His master's great adventure stirredWithin him to mingle the bloom and bird,And morn ere its coming illume.V.Beside him strangely a piece of the darkHad moved, and the undertonesOf a priest in prayer, like a cavernous wave,He heard, as were there a soul to saveFor urgency now in the groans.VI.No priest was hired for the play this night:And the squire tossed head like a deerAt sniff of the tainted wind; he gazedWhere cresset-lamps in a door were raised,Belike on a passing bier.VII.All cloaked and masked, with naked blades,That flashed of a judgement done,The lords of the Court, from the palace-door,Came issuing silently, bearers four,And flat on their shoulders one.VIII.They marched the body to squire and priest,They lowered it sad to earth:The priest they gave the burial dole,Bade wrestle hourly for his soul,Who was a lord of worth.IX.One said, farewell to a gallant knight!And one, but a restless ghost!'Tis a year and a day since in this placeHe died, sped high by a lady of graceTo join the blissful host.X.Not vainly on us she charged her cause,The lady whom we revereFor faith in the mask of a love untrueTo the Love we honour, the Love her due,The Love we have vowed to rear.XI.A trap for the sweet tooth, lures for the light,For the fortress defiant a mine:Right well! But not in the South, princess,Shall the lady snared of her noblenessEver shamed or a captive pine.XII.When the South had voice of a nightingaleAbove a Maying bower,On the heights of Love walked radiant peers;The bird of the passion sang over his tearsTo the breeze and the orange-flower.

The soft night-wind went laden to deathWith smell of the orange in flower;The light leaves prattled to neighbour ears;The bird of the passion sang over his tears;The night named hour by hour.

The soft night-wind went laden to death

With smell of the orange in flower;

The light leaves prattled to neighbour ears;

The bird of the passion sang over his tears;

The night named hour by hour.

II.

Sang loud, sang low the rapturous birdTill the yellow hour was nigh,Behind the folds of a darker cloud:He chuckled, he sobbed, alow, aloud;The voice between earth and sky.

Sang loud, sang low the rapturous bird

Till the yellow hour was nigh,

Behind the folds of a darker cloud:

He chuckled, he sobbed, alow, aloud;

The voice between earth and sky.

III.

O will you, will you, women are weak;The proudest are yielding matesFor a forward foot and a tongue of fire:So thought Lord Dusiote's trusty squire,At watch by the palace-gates.

O will you, will you, women are weak;

The proudest are yielding mates

For a forward foot and a tongue of fire:

So thought Lord Dusiote's trusty squire,

At watch by the palace-gates.

IV.

The song of the bird was wine in his blood,And woman the odorous bloom:His master's great adventure stirredWithin him to mingle the bloom and bird,And morn ere its coming illume.

The song of the bird was wine in his blood,

And woman the odorous bloom:

His master's great adventure stirred

Within him to mingle the bloom and bird,

And morn ere its coming illume.

Beside him strangely a piece of the darkHad moved, and the undertonesOf a priest in prayer, like a cavernous wave,He heard, as were there a soul to saveFor urgency now in the groans.

Beside him strangely a piece of the dark

Had moved, and the undertones

Of a priest in prayer, like a cavernous wave,

He heard, as were there a soul to save

For urgency now in the groans.

VI.

No priest was hired for the play this night:And the squire tossed head like a deerAt sniff of the tainted wind; he gazedWhere cresset-lamps in a door were raised,Belike on a passing bier.

No priest was hired for the play this night:

And the squire tossed head like a deer

At sniff of the tainted wind; he gazed

Where cresset-lamps in a door were raised,

Belike on a passing bier.

VII.

All cloaked and masked, with naked blades,That flashed of a judgement done,The lords of the Court, from the palace-door,Came issuing silently, bearers four,And flat on their shoulders one.

All cloaked and masked, with naked blades,

That flashed of a judgement done,

The lords of the Court, from the palace-door,

Came issuing silently, bearers four,

And flat on their shoulders one.

VIII.

They marched the body to squire and priest,They lowered it sad to earth:The priest they gave the burial dole,Bade wrestle hourly for his soul,Who was a lord of worth.

They marched the body to squire and priest,

They lowered it sad to earth:

The priest they gave the burial dole,

Bade wrestle hourly for his soul,

Who was a lord of worth.

IX.

One said, farewell to a gallant knight!And one, but a restless ghost!'Tis a year and a day since in this placeHe died, sped high by a lady of graceTo join the blissful host.

One said, farewell to a gallant knight!

And one, but a restless ghost!

'Tis a year and a day since in this place

He died, sped high by a lady of grace

To join the blissful host.

Not vainly on us she charged her cause,The lady whom we revereFor faith in the mask of a love untrueTo the Love we honour, the Love her due,The Love we have vowed to rear.

Not vainly on us she charged her cause,

The lady whom we revere

For faith in the mask of a love untrue

To the Love we honour, the Love her due,

The Love we have vowed to rear.

XI.

A trap for the sweet tooth, lures for the light,For the fortress defiant a mine:Right well! But not in the South, princess,Shall the lady snared of her noblenessEver shamed or a captive pine.

A trap for the sweet tooth, lures for the light,

For the fortress defiant a mine:

Right well! But not in the South, princess,

Shall the lady snared of her nobleness

Ever shamed or a captive pine.

XII.

When the South had voice of a nightingaleAbove a Maying bower,On the heights of Love walked radiant peers;The bird of the passion sang over his tearsTo the breeze and the orange-flower.

When the South had voice of a nightingale

Above a Maying bower,

On the heights of Love walked radiant peers;

The bird of the passion sang over his tears

To the breeze and the orange-flower.

I.Sword in length a reaping-hook amainHarald sheared his field, blood up to shank:'Mid the swathes of slain,First at moonrise drank.II.Thereof hunger, as for meats the knife,Pricked his ribs, in one sharp spur to reachHome and his young wife,Nigh the sea-ford beach.III.After battle keen to feed was he:Smoking flesh the thresher washed down fast,Like an angry seaShips from keel to mast.IV.Name us glory, singer, name us prideMatching Harald's in his deeds of strength;Chiefs, wife, sword by side,Foemen stretched their length!V.Half a winter night the toasts hurrahed,Crowned him, clothed him, trumpeted him high,Till awink he badeWife to chamber fly.VI.Twice the sun had mounted, twice had sunk,Ere his ears took sound; he lay for dead;Mountain on his trunk,Ocean on his head.VII.Clamped to couch, his fiery hearing suckedWhispers that at heart made iron-clang:Here fool-women clucked,There men held harangue.VIII.Burial to fit their lord of war,They decreed him: hailed the kingling: ha!Hateful! but this ThorFailed a weak lamb's baa.IX.King they hailed a branchlet, shaped to fare,Weighted so, like quaking shingle spume,When his blood's own heirRipened in the womb!X.Still he heard, and doglike, hoglike, ranNose of hearing till his blind sight saw:Woman stood with manMouthing low, at paw.XI.Woman, man, they mouthed; they spake a thingArmed to split a mountain, sunder seas:Still the frozen kingLay and felt him freeze.XII.Doglike, hoglike, horselike now he raced,Riderless, in ghost across a groundFlint of breast, blank-faced,Past the fleshly bound.XIII.Smell of brine his nostrils filled with might:Nostrils quickened eyelids, eyelids hand:Hand for sword at rightGroped, the great haft spanned.XIV.Wonder struck to ice his people's eyes:Him they saw, the prone upon the bier,Sheer from backbone rise,Sword uplifting peer.XV.Sitting did he breathe against the blade,Standing kiss it for that proof of life:Strode, as netters wade,Straightway to his wife.XVI.Her he eyed: his judgement was one word,Foulbed! and she fell: the blow clove two.Fearful for the third,All their breath indrew.XVII.Morning danced along the waves to beach;Dumb his chiefs fetched breath for what might hap:Glassily on eachStared the iron cap.XVIII.Sudden, as it were a monster oakSplit to yield a limb by stress of heat,Strained he, staggered, brokeDoubled at their feet.

Sword in length a reaping-hook amainHarald sheared his field, blood up to shank:'Mid the swathes of slain,First at moonrise drank.

Sword in length a reaping-hook amain

Harald sheared his field, blood up to shank:

'Mid the swathes of slain,

First at moonrise drank.

II.

Thereof hunger, as for meats the knife,Pricked his ribs, in one sharp spur to reachHome and his young wife,Nigh the sea-ford beach.

Thereof hunger, as for meats the knife,

Pricked his ribs, in one sharp spur to reach

Home and his young wife,

Nigh the sea-ford beach.

III.

After battle keen to feed was he:Smoking flesh the thresher washed down fast,Like an angry seaShips from keel to mast.

After battle keen to feed was he:

Smoking flesh the thresher washed down fast,

Like an angry sea

Ships from keel to mast.

IV.

Name us glory, singer, name us prideMatching Harald's in his deeds of strength;Chiefs, wife, sword by side,Foemen stretched their length!

Name us glory, singer, name us pride

Matching Harald's in his deeds of strength;

Chiefs, wife, sword by side,

Foemen stretched their length!

Half a winter night the toasts hurrahed,Crowned him, clothed him, trumpeted him high,Till awink he badeWife to chamber fly.

Half a winter night the toasts hurrahed,

Crowned him, clothed him, trumpeted him high,

Till awink he bade

Wife to chamber fly.

VI.

Twice the sun had mounted, twice had sunk,Ere his ears took sound; he lay for dead;Mountain on his trunk,Ocean on his head.

Twice the sun had mounted, twice had sunk,

Ere his ears took sound; he lay for dead;

Mountain on his trunk,

Ocean on his head.

VII.

Clamped to couch, his fiery hearing suckedWhispers that at heart made iron-clang:Here fool-women clucked,There men held harangue.

Clamped to couch, his fiery hearing sucked

Whispers that at heart made iron-clang:

Here fool-women clucked,

There men held harangue.

VIII.

Burial to fit their lord of war,They decreed him: hailed the kingling: ha!Hateful! but this ThorFailed a weak lamb's baa.

Burial to fit their lord of war,

They decreed him: hailed the kingling: ha!

Hateful! but this Thor

Failed a weak lamb's baa.

IX.

King they hailed a branchlet, shaped to fare,Weighted so, like quaking shingle spume,When his blood's own heirRipened in the womb!

King they hailed a branchlet, shaped to fare,

Weighted so, like quaking shingle spume,

When his blood's own heir

Ripened in the womb!

Still he heard, and doglike, hoglike, ranNose of hearing till his blind sight saw:Woman stood with manMouthing low, at paw.

Still he heard, and doglike, hoglike, ran

Nose of hearing till his blind sight saw:

Woman stood with man

Mouthing low, at paw.

XI.

Woman, man, they mouthed; they spake a thingArmed to split a mountain, sunder seas:Still the frozen kingLay and felt him freeze.

Woman, man, they mouthed; they spake a thing

Armed to split a mountain, sunder seas:

Still the frozen king

Lay and felt him freeze.

XII.

Doglike, hoglike, horselike now he raced,Riderless, in ghost across a groundFlint of breast, blank-faced,Past the fleshly bound.

Doglike, hoglike, horselike now he raced,

Riderless, in ghost across a ground

Flint of breast, blank-faced,

Past the fleshly bound.

XIII.

Smell of brine his nostrils filled with might:Nostrils quickened eyelids, eyelids hand:Hand for sword at rightGroped, the great haft spanned.

Smell of brine his nostrils filled with might:

Nostrils quickened eyelids, eyelids hand:

Hand for sword at right

Groped, the great haft spanned.

XIV.

Wonder struck to ice his people's eyes:Him they saw, the prone upon the bier,Sheer from backbone rise,Sword uplifting peer.

Wonder struck to ice his people's eyes:

Him they saw, the prone upon the bier,

Sheer from backbone rise,

Sword uplifting peer.

XV.

Sitting did he breathe against the blade,Standing kiss it for that proof of life:Strode, as netters wade,Straightway to his wife.

Sitting did he breathe against the blade,

Standing kiss it for that proof of life:

Strode, as netters wade,

Straightway to his wife.

XVI.

Her he eyed: his judgement was one word,Foulbed! and she fell: the blow clove two.Fearful for the third,All their breath indrew.

Her he eyed: his judgement was one word,

Foulbed! and she fell: the blow clove two.

Fearful for the third,

All their breath indrew.

XVII.

Morning danced along the waves to beach;Dumb his chiefs fetched breath for what might hap:Glassily on eachStared the iron cap.

Morning danced along the waves to beach;

Dumb his chiefs fetched breath for what might hap:

Glassily on each

Stared the iron cap.

XVIII.

Sudden, as it were a monster oakSplit to yield a limb by stress of heat,Strained he, staggered, brokeDoubled at their feet.

Sudden, as it were a monster oak

Split to yield a limb by stress of heat,

Strained he, staggered, broke

Doubled at their feet.

Hawk or shrike has done this deedOf downy feathers: rueful sight!Sweet sentimentalist, inviteYour bosom's Power to intercede.So hard it seems that one must bleedBecause another needs will bite!All round we find cold Nature slightThe feelings of the totter-knee'd.O it were pleasant, with youTo fly from this tussle of foes,The shambles, the charnel, the wrinkle!To dwell in yon dribble of dewOn the cheek of your sovereign rose,And live the young life of a twinkle.

Hawk or shrike has done this deedOf downy feathers: rueful sight!Sweet sentimentalist, inviteYour bosom's Power to intercede.

Hawk or shrike has done this deed

Of downy feathers: rueful sight!

Sweet sentimentalist, invite

Your bosom's Power to intercede.

So hard it seems that one must bleedBecause another needs will bite!All round we find cold Nature slightThe feelings of the totter-knee'd.

So hard it seems that one must bleed

Because another needs will bite!

All round we find cold Nature slight

The feelings of the totter-knee'd.

O it were pleasant, with youTo fly from this tussle of foes,The shambles, the charnel, the wrinkle!To dwell in yon dribble of dewOn the cheek of your sovereign rose,And live the young life of a twinkle.

O it were pleasant, with you

To fly from this tussle of foes,

The shambles, the charnel, the wrinkle!

To dwell in yon dribble of dew

On the cheek of your sovereign rose,

And live the young life of a twinkle.

I.Gracefullest leaper, the dappled fox-cubCurves over brambles with berries and buds,Light as a bubble that flies from the tub,Whisked by the laundry-wife out of her suds.Wavy he comes, woolly, all at his ease,Elegant, fashioned to foot with the deuce;Nature's own prince of the dance: then he seesMe, and retires as if making excuse.II.Never closed minuet courtlier! SoonCub-hunting troops were abroad, and a yelpTold of sure scent: ere the stroke upon noonReynard the younger lay far beyond help.Wild, my poor friend, has the fate to be chased;Civil will conquer: were 'tother 'twere worse.Fair, by the flushed early morning embraced,Haply you live a day longer in verse.

Gracefullest leaper, the dappled fox-cubCurves over brambles with berries and buds,Light as a bubble that flies from the tub,Whisked by the laundry-wife out of her suds.Wavy he comes, woolly, all at his ease,Elegant, fashioned to foot with the deuce;Nature's own prince of the dance: then he seesMe, and retires as if making excuse.

Gracefullest leaper, the dappled fox-cub

Curves over brambles with berries and buds,

Light as a bubble that flies from the tub,

Whisked by the laundry-wife out of her suds.

Wavy he comes, woolly, all at his ease,

Elegant, fashioned to foot with the deuce;

Nature's own prince of the dance: then he sees

Me, and retires as if making excuse.

II.

Never closed minuet courtlier! SoonCub-hunting troops were abroad, and a yelpTold of sure scent: ere the stroke upon noonReynard the younger lay far beyond help.Wild, my poor friend, has the fate to be chased;Civil will conquer: were 'tother 'twere worse.Fair, by the flushed early morning embraced,Haply you live a day longer in verse.

Never closed minuet courtlier! Soon

Cub-hunting troops were abroad, and a yelp

Told of sure scent: ere the stroke upon noon

Reynard the younger lay far beyond help.

Wild, my poor friend, has the fate to be chased;

Civil will conquer: were 'tother 'twere worse.

Fair, by the flushed early morning embraced,

Haply you live a day longer in verse.

Projected from the bilious Childe,This clatterjaw his foot could setOn Alps, without a breast beguiledTo glow in shedding rascal sweat.Somewhere about his grinder teeth,He mouthed of thoughts that grilled beneath,And summoned Nature to her feudWith bile & buskin Attitude.II.Considerably was the worldOf spinsterdom and clergy rackedWhile he his hinted horrors hurled,And she pictorially attacked.A duel hugeous! Tragic? Ho!The cities, not the mountains, blowSuch bladders; in their shapes confessedAn after-dinner's indigest.

Projected from the bilious Childe,

This clatterjaw his foot could set

On Alps, without a breast beguiled

To glow in shedding rascal sweat.

Somewhere about his grinder teeth,

He mouthed of thoughts that grilled beneath,

And summoned Nature to her feud

With bile & buskin Attitude.

II.

Considerably was the worldOf spinsterdom and clergy rackedWhile he his hinted horrors hurled,And she pictorially attacked.A duel hugeous! Tragic? Ho!The cities, not the mountains, blowSuch bladders; in their shapes confessedAn after-dinner's indigest.

Considerably was the world

Of spinsterdom and clergy racked

While he his hinted horrors hurled,

And she pictorially attacked.

A duel hugeous! Tragic? Ho!

The cities, not the mountains, blow

Such bladders; in their shapes confessed

An after-dinner's indigest.

Cistercians might crack their sidesWith laughter, and exemption get,At sight of heroes clasping brides,And hearing—O the horn! the horn!The horn of their obstructive debt!But quit the stage, that note appliesFor sermons cosmopolitan,Hernani. Have we filched our prize,Forgetting...? O the horn! the horn!The horn of the Old Gentleman!

Cistercians might crack their sidesWith laughter, and exemption get,At sight of heroes clasping brides,And hearing—O the horn! the horn!The horn of their obstructive debt!

Cistercians might crack their sides

With laughter, and exemption get,

At sight of heroes clasping brides,

And hearing—O the horn! the horn!

The horn of their obstructive debt!

But quit the stage, that note appliesFor sermons cosmopolitan,Hernani. Have we filched our prize,Forgetting...? O the horn! the horn!The horn of the Old Gentleman!

But quit the stage, that note applies

For sermons cosmopolitan,

Hernani. Have we filched our prize,

Forgetting...? O the horn! the horn!

The horn of the Old Gentleman!

I.Flat as to an eagle's eye,Earth hung under Attila.Sign for carnage gave he none.In the peace of his disdain,Sun and rain, and rain and sun,Cherished men to wax again,Crawl, and in their manner die.On his people stood a frost.Like the charger cut in stone,Rearing stiff, the warrior host,Which had life from him alone,Craved the trumpet's eager note,As the bridled earth the Spring.Rusty was the trumpet's throat.He let chief and prophet rave;Venturous earth around him stringThreads of grass and slender rye,Wave them, and untrampled wave.O for the time when God did cry,Eye and have, my Attila!II.Scorn of conquest filled like sleepHim that drank of havoc deepWhen the Green Cat pawed the globe:When the horsemen from his bowShot in sheaves and made the foeCrimson fringes of a robe,Trailed o'er towns and fields in woe;When they streaked the rivers red,When the saddle was the bed.Attila, my Attila!III.He breathed peace and pulled a flower.Eye and have, my Attila!This was the damsel Ildico,Rich in bloom until that hour:Shyer than the forest doeTwinkling slim through branches green.Yet the shyest shall be seen.Make the bed for Attila!IV.Seen of Attila, desired,She was led to him straightway:Radiantly was she attired;Rifled lands were her array,Jewels bled from weeping crowns,Gold of woeful fields and towns.She stood pallid in the light.How she walked, how withered white,From the blessing to the board,She who should have proudly blushed,Women whispered, asking why,Hinting of a youth, and hushed.Was it terror of her lord?Was she childish? was she sly?Was it the bright mantle's dyeDrained her blood to hues of griefLike the ash that shoots the spark?See the green tree all in leaf:See the green tree stripped of bark!—Make the bed for Attila!V.Round the banquet-table's loadScores of iron horsemen rode;Chosen warriors, keen and hard;Grain of threshing battle-dints;Attila's fierce body-guard,Smelling war like fire in flints.Grant them peace be fugitive!Iron-capped and iron-heeled,Each against his fellow's shieldSmote the spear-head, shouting, Live,Attila! my Attila!Eagle, eagle of our breed,Eagle, beak the lamb, and feed!Have her, and unleash us! live,Attila! my Attila!VI.He was of the blood to shineBronze in joy, like skies that scorch.Beaming with the goblet wineIn the wavering of the torch,Looked he backward on his bride.Eye and have, my Attila!Fair in her wide robe was she:Where the robe and vest divide,Fair she seemed surpassingly:Soft, yet vivid as the streamDanube rolls in the moonbeamThrough rock-barriers: but she smiledNever, she sat cold as salt:Open-mouthed as a young childWondering with a mind at fault.Make the bed for Attila!VII.Under the thin hoop of goldWhence in waves her hair outrolled,'Twixt her brows the women sawShadows of a vulture's clawGript in flight: strange knots that spedClosing and dissolving aye:Such as wicked dreams betrayWhen pale dawn creeps o'er the bed.They might show the common pangKnown to virgins, in whom dreadHunts their bliss like famished hounds;While the chiefs with roaring roundsTossed her to her lord, and sangPraise of him whose hand was large,Cheers for beauty brought to yield,Chirrups of the trot afield,Hurrahs of the battle-charge.VIII.Those rock-faces hung with weedReddened: their great days of speed,Slaughter, triumph, flood and flame,Like a jealous frenzy wrought,Scoffed at them and did them shame,Quaffing idle, conquering naught.O for the time when God decreedEarth the prey of Attila!God called on thee in his wrath,Trample it to mire! 'Twas done.Swift as Danube clove our pathDown from East to Western sun.Huns! behold your pasture, gaze,Take, our king said: heel to flank(Whisper it, the warhorse neighs!)Forth we drove, and blood we drankFresh as dawn-dew: earth was ours:Men were flocks we lashed and spurned:Fast as windy flame devours,Flame along the wind, we burned.Arrow, javelin, spear, and sword!Here the snows and there the plains;On! our signal: onward pouredTorrents of the tightened reins,Foaming over vine and cornHot against the city-wall.Whisper it, you sound a hornTo the grey beast in the stall!Yea, he whinnies at a nod.O for sound of the trumpet-notes!O for the time when thunder-shod,He that scarce can munch his oats,Hung on the peaks, brooded aloof,Champed the grain of the wrath of God,Pressed a cloud on the cowering roof,Snorted out of the blackness fire!Scarlet broke the sky, and down,Hammering West with print of his hoof,He burst out of the bosom of ireSharp as eyelight under thy frown,Attila, my Attila!IX.Ravaged cities rolling smokeThick on cornfields dry and black,Wave his banners, bear his yoke.Track the lightning, and you trackAttila. They moan: 'tis he!Bleed: 'tis he! Beneath his footLeagues are deserts charred and mute;Where he passed, there passed a sea.Attila, my Attila!X.—Who breathed on the king cold breath?Said a voice amid the host,He is Death that weds a ghost,Else a ghost that weds with Death?Ildico's chill little handShuddering he beheld: austereStared, as one who would commandSight of what has filled his ear:Plucked his thin beard, laughed disdain.Feast, ye Huns! His arm he raised,Like the warrior, battle-dazed,Joining to the fight amain.Make the bed for Attila!XI.Silent Ildico stood up.King and chief to pledge her well,Shocked sword sword and cup on cup,Clamouring like a brazen bell.Silent stepped the queenly slave.Fair, by heaven! she was to meetOn a midnight, near a grave,Flapping wide the winding-sheet.XII.Death and she walked through the crowd,Out beyond the flush of light.Ceremonious women bowedFollowing her: 'twas middle night.Then the warriors each on eachSpied, nor overloudly laughed;Like the victims of the leech,Who have drunk of a strange draught.XIII.Attila remained. Even soFrowned he when he struck the blow,Brained his horse that stumbled twiceOn a bloody day in Gaul,Bellowing, Perish omens! AllMarvelled at the sacrifice,But the battle, swinging dim,Rang off that axe-blow for himAttila, my Attila!XIV.Brightening over Danube wheeledStar by star; and she, most fair,Sweet as victory half-revealed,Seized to make him glad and young;She, O sweet as the dark signGiven him oft in battles gone,When the voice within said, Dare!And the trumpet-notes were sprungRapturous for the charge in line:She lay waiting: fair as dawnWrapped in folds of night she lay;Secret, lustrous; flaglike there,Waiting him to stream and ray,With one loosening blush outflung,Colours of his hordes of horseRanked for combat: still he hungLike the fever dreading air,Cursed of heat; and as a corseGathers vultures, in his brainImages of her eyes and kissPlucked at the limbs that could remainLoitering nigh the doors of bliss.Make the bed for Attila!XV.Passion on one hand, on one,Destiny led forth the Hun.Heard ye outcries of affright,Voices that through many a fray,In the press of flag and spear,Warned the king of peril near?Men were dumb, they gave him way,Eager heads to left and right,Like the bearded standard, thrust,As in battle, for a nodFrom their lord of battle-dust.Attila, my Attila!Slow between the lines he trod.Saw ye not the sun drop slowOn this nuptial day, ere evePierced him on the couch aglow?Attila, my Attila!Here and there his heart would cleaveClotted memory for a space:Some stout chief's familiar face,Choicest of his fighting brood,Touched him, as 'twere one to knowEre he met his bride's embrace.Attila, my Attila!Twisting fingers in a beardScant as winter underwood,With a narrowed eye he peered;Like the sunset's graver redUp old pine-stems. Grave he stoodEyeing them on whom was shedBurning light from him alone.Attila, my Attila!Red were they whose mouths recalledWhere the slaughter mounted high,High on it, o'er earth appalled,He; heaven's finger in their sightRaising him on waves of dead:Up to heaven his trumpets blown.O for the time when God's delightCrowned the head of Attila!Hungry river of the cragStretching hands for earth he came:Force and Speed astride his namePointed back to spear and flag.He came out of miracle cloud,Lightning-swift and spectre-lean.Now those days are in a shroud:Have him to his ghostly queen.Make the bed for Attila!XVI.One, with winecups overstrung,Cried him farewell in Rome's tongue.Who? for the great king turned as thoughWrath to the shaft's head strained the bow.Nay, not wrath the king possessed,But a radiance of the breast.In that sound he had the keyOf his cunning malady.Lo, where gleamed the sapphire lake,Leo, with his Rome at stake,Drew blank air to hues and forms;Whereof Two that shone distinct,Linked as orbed stars are linked,Clear among the myriad swarms,In a constellation, dashedFull on horse and rider's eyesSunless light, but light it was—Light that blinded and abashed,Froze his members, bade him pause,Caught him mid-gallop, blazed him home.Attila, my Attila!What are streams that cease to flow?What was Attila, rolled thence,Cheated by a juggler's show?Like that lake of blue intense,Under tempest lashed to foam,Lurid radiance, as he passed,Filled him, and around was glassed,When deep-voiced he uttered, Rome!XVII.Rome! the word was: and like meatFlung to dogs the word was torn.Soon Rome's magic priests shall bleatRound their magic Pope forlorn!Loud they swore the king had swornVengeance on the Roman cheat,Ere he passed as, grave and still,Danube through the shouting hill:Sworn it by his naked life!Eagle, snakes these women are:Take them on the wing! but war,Smoking war's the warrior's wife!Then for plunder! then for bridesWon without a winking priest!—Danube whirled his train of tidesBlack toward the yellow East.Make the bed for Attila!XVIII.Chirrups of the trot afield,Hurrahs of the battle-charge,How they answered, how they pealed,When the morning rose and drewBow and javelin, lance and targe,In the nuptial casement's view!Attila, my Attila!Down the hillspurs, out of tentsGlimmering in mid-forest, throughMists of the cool morning scents,Forth from city-alley, court,Arch, the bounding horsemen flew,Joined along the plains of dew,Raced and gave the rein to sport,Closed and streamed like curtain-rentsFluttered by a wind, and flowedInto squadrons: trumpets blew,Chargers neighed, and trappings glowedBrave as the bright Orient's.Look on the seas that run to greetSunrise: look on the leagues of wheat:Look on the lines and squares that fretLeaping to level the lance blood-wet.Tens of thousands, man and steed,Tossing like field-flowers in Spring;Ready to be hurled at needWhither their great lord may sling.Finger Romeward, Romeward, King!Attila, my Attila!Still the woman holds him fastAs a night-flag round the mast.XIX.Nigh upon the fiery noon,Out of ranks a roaring burst.'Ware white women like the moon!They are poison: they have thirstFirst for love, and next for rule.Jealous of the army, she?Ho, the little wanton fool!We were his before she squealedBlind for mother's milk, and heeledKicking on her mother's knee.His in life and death are we:She but one flower of a field.We have given him bliss tenfoldIn an hour to match her night:Attila, my Attila!Still her arms the master hold,As on wounds the scarf winds tight.XX.Over Danube day no more,Like the warrior's planted spear,Stood to hail the King: in fearWestern day knocked at his door.Attila, my Attila!Sudden in the army's eyesRolled a blast of lights and cries:Flashing through them: Dead are ye!Dead, ye Huns, and torn piecemeal!See the ordered army reelStricken through the ribs: and see,Wild for speed to cheat despair,Horsemen, clutching knee to chin,Crouch and dart they know not where.Attila, my Attila!Faces covered, faces bare,Light the palace-front like jetsOf a dreadful fire within.Beating hands and driving hairStart on roof and parapets.Dust rolls up; the slaughter din.—Death to them who call him dead!Death to them who doubt the tale!Choking in his dusty veil,Sank the sun on his death-bed.Make the bed for Attila!XXI.'Tis the room where thunder sleeps.Frenzy, as a wave to shoreSurging, burst the silent door,And drew back to awful deeps,Breath beaten out, foam-white. AnewHowled and pressed the ghastly crew,Like storm-waters over rocks.Attila, my Attila!One long shaft of sunset redLaid a finger on the bed.Horror, with the snaky locks,Shocked the surge to stiffened heaps,Hoary as the glacier's headFaced to the moon. Insane they look.God it is in heaven who weepsFallen from his hand the Scourge he shook.Make the bed for Attila!XXII.Square along the couch, and stark,Like the sea-rejected thingSea-sucked white, behold their King.Attila, my Attila!Beams that panted black and bright,Scornful lightnings danced their sight:Him they see an oak in bud,Him an oaklog stripped of bark:Him, their lord of day and night,White, and lifting up his bloodDumb for vengeance. Name us that,Huddled in the corner dark,Humped and grinning like a cat,Teeth for lips!—'tis she! she stares,Glittering through her bristled hairs.Rend her! Pierce her to the hilt!She is Murder: have her out!What! this little fist, as bigAs the southern summer fig!She is Madness, none may doubt.Death, who dares deny her guilt!Death, who says his blood she spilt!Make the bed for Attila!XXIII.Torch and lamp and sunset-redFell three-fingered on the bed.In the torch the beard-hair scantWith the great breast seemed to pant:In the yellow lamp the limbsWavered, as the lake-flower swims:In the sunset red the deadDead avowed him, dry blood-red.XXIV.Hatred of that abject slave,Earth, was in each chieftain's heart.Earth has got him, whom God gave,Earth may sing, and earth shall smart!Attila, my Attila!XXV.Thus their prayer was raved and ceased.Then had Vengeance of her feastScent in their quick pang to smiteWhich they knew not, but huge painUrged them for some victim slainSwift, and blotted from the sight.Each at each, a crouching beast,Glared, and quivered for the word.Each at each, and all on that,Humped and grinning like a cat,Head-bound with its bridal-wreath.Then the bitter chamber heardVengeance in a cauldron seethe.Hurried counsel rage and craftYelped to hungry men, whose teethHard the grey lip-ringlet gnawed,Gleaming till their fury laughed.With the steel-hilt in the clutch,Eyes were shot on her that frozeIn their blood-thirst overawed;Burned to rend, yet feared to touch.She that was his nuptial rose,She was of his heart's blood clad:Oh! the last of him she had!—Could a little fist as bigAs the southern summer fig,Push a dagger's point to pierceRibs like those? Who else! They glaredEach at each. Suspicion fierceMany a black remembrance bared.Attila, my Attila!Death, who dares deny her guilt!Death, who says his blood she spilt!Traitor he, who stands between!Swift to hell, who harms the Queen!She, the wild contention's cause,Combed her hair with quiet paws.Make the bed for Attila!XXVI.Night was on the host in arms.Night, as never night before,Hearkened to an army's roarBreaking up in snaky swarms:Torch and steel and snorting steed,Hunted by the cry of blood,Cursed with blindness, mad for day.Where the torches ran a flood,Tales of him and of the deedShowered like a torrent spray.Fear of silence made them striveLoud in warrior-hymns that grewHoarse for slaughter yet unwreaked.Ghostly Night across the hive,With a crimson finger drewLetters on her breast and shrieked.Night was on them like the mouldOn the buried half alive.Night, their bloody Queen, her foldWound on them and struck them through.Make the bed for Attila!XXVII.Earth has got him whom God gave,Earth may sing, and earth shall smart!None of earth shall know his grave.They that dig with Death depart.Attila, my Attila!XXVIII.Thus their prayer was raved and passed:Passed in peace their red sunset:Hewn and earthed those men of sweatWho had housed him in the vast,Where no mortal might declare,There lies he—his end was there!Attila, my Attila!XXIX.Kingless was the army left:Of its head the race bereft.Every fury of the pitTortured and dismembered it.Lo, upon a silent hour,When the pitch of frost subsides,Danube with a shout of powerLoosens his imprisoned tides:Wide around the frighted plainsShake to hear his riven chains,Dreadfuller than heaven in wrath,As he makes himself a path:High leap the ice-cracks, towering pileFloes to bergs, and giant peersWrestle on a drifted isle;Island on ice-island rears;Dissolution battles fast:Big the senseless Titans loom,Through a mist of common doomStriving which shall die the last:Till a gentle-breathing mornFrees the stream from bank to bank.So the Empire built of scornAgonized, dissolved and sank.Of the Queen no more was toldThan of leaf on Danube rolled.Make the bed for Attila!

Flat as to an eagle's eye,Earth hung under Attila.Sign for carnage gave he none.In the peace of his disdain,Sun and rain, and rain and sun,Cherished men to wax again,Crawl, and in their manner die.On his people stood a frost.Like the charger cut in stone,Rearing stiff, the warrior host,Which had life from him alone,Craved the trumpet's eager note,As the bridled earth the Spring.Rusty was the trumpet's throat.He let chief and prophet rave;Venturous earth around him stringThreads of grass and slender rye,Wave them, and untrampled wave.O for the time when God did cry,Eye and have, my Attila!

Flat as to an eagle's eye,

Earth hung under Attila.

Sign for carnage gave he none.

In the peace of his disdain,

Sun and rain, and rain and sun,

Cherished men to wax again,

Crawl, and in their manner die.

On his people stood a frost.

Like the charger cut in stone,

Rearing stiff, the warrior host,

Which had life from him alone,

Craved the trumpet's eager note,

As the bridled earth the Spring.

Rusty was the trumpet's throat.

He let chief and prophet rave;

Venturous earth around him string

Threads of grass and slender rye,

Wave them, and untrampled wave.

O for the time when God did cry,

Eye and have, my Attila!

II.

Scorn of conquest filled like sleepHim that drank of havoc deepWhen the Green Cat pawed the globe:When the horsemen from his bowShot in sheaves and made the foeCrimson fringes of a robe,Trailed o'er towns and fields in woe;When they streaked the rivers red,When the saddle was the bed.Attila, my Attila!

Scorn of conquest filled like sleep

Him that drank of havoc deep

When the Green Cat pawed the globe:

When the horsemen from his bow

Shot in sheaves and made the foe

Crimson fringes of a robe,

Trailed o'er towns and fields in woe;

When they streaked the rivers red,

When the saddle was the bed.

Attila, my Attila!

III.

He breathed peace and pulled a flower.Eye and have, my Attila!This was the damsel Ildico,Rich in bloom until that hour:Shyer than the forest doeTwinkling slim through branches green.Yet the shyest shall be seen.Make the bed for Attila!

He breathed peace and pulled a flower.

Eye and have, my Attila!

This was the damsel Ildico,

Rich in bloom until that hour:

Shyer than the forest doe

Twinkling slim through branches green.

Yet the shyest shall be seen.

Make the bed for Attila!

IV.

Seen of Attila, desired,She was led to him straightway:Radiantly was she attired;Rifled lands were her array,Jewels bled from weeping crowns,Gold of woeful fields and towns.She stood pallid in the light.How she walked, how withered white,From the blessing to the board,She who should have proudly blushed,Women whispered, asking why,Hinting of a youth, and hushed.Was it terror of her lord?Was she childish? was she sly?Was it the bright mantle's dyeDrained her blood to hues of griefLike the ash that shoots the spark?See the green tree all in leaf:See the green tree stripped of bark!—Make the bed for Attila!

Seen of Attila, desired,

She was led to him straightway:

Radiantly was she attired;

Rifled lands were her array,

Jewels bled from weeping crowns,

Gold of woeful fields and towns.

She stood pallid in the light.

How she walked, how withered white,

From the blessing to the board,

She who should have proudly blushed,

Women whispered, asking why,

Hinting of a youth, and hushed.

Was it terror of her lord?

Was she childish? was she sly?

Was it the bright mantle's dye

Drained her blood to hues of grief

Like the ash that shoots the spark?

See the green tree all in leaf:

See the green tree stripped of bark!—

Make the bed for Attila!

Round the banquet-table's loadScores of iron horsemen rode;Chosen warriors, keen and hard;Grain of threshing battle-dints;Attila's fierce body-guard,Smelling war like fire in flints.Grant them peace be fugitive!Iron-capped and iron-heeled,Each against his fellow's shieldSmote the spear-head, shouting, Live,Attila! my Attila!Eagle, eagle of our breed,Eagle, beak the lamb, and feed!Have her, and unleash us! live,Attila! my Attila!

Round the banquet-table's load

Scores of iron horsemen rode;

Chosen warriors, keen and hard;

Grain of threshing battle-dints;

Attila's fierce body-guard,

Smelling war like fire in flints.

Grant them peace be fugitive!

Iron-capped and iron-heeled,

Each against his fellow's shield

Smote the spear-head, shouting, Live,

Attila! my Attila!

Eagle, eagle of our breed,

Eagle, beak the lamb, and feed!

Have her, and unleash us! live,

Attila! my Attila!

VI.

He was of the blood to shineBronze in joy, like skies that scorch.Beaming with the goblet wineIn the wavering of the torch,Looked he backward on his bride.Eye and have, my Attila!Fair in her wide robe was she:Where the robe and vest divide,Fair she seemed surpassingly:Soft, yet vivid as the streamDanube rolls in the moonbeamThrough rock-barriers: but she smiledNever, she sat cold as salt:Open-mouthed as a young childWondering with a mind at fault.Make the bed for Attila!

He was of the blood to shine

Bronze in joy, like skies that scorch.

Beaming with the goblet wine

In the wavering of the torch,

Looked he backward on his bride.

Eye and have, my Attila!

Fair in her wide robe was she:

Where the robe and vest divide,

Fair she seemed surpassingly:

Soft, yet vivid as the stream

Danube rolls in the moonbeam

Through rock-barriers: but she smiled

Never, she sat cold as salt:

Open-mouthed as a young child

Wondering with a mind at fault.

Make the bed for Attila!

VII.

Under the thin hoop of goldWhence in waves her hair outrolled,'Twixt her brows the women sawShadows of a vulture's clawGript in flight: strange knots that spedClosing and dissolving aye:Such as wicked dreams betrayWhen pale dawn creeps o'er the bed.They might show the common pangKnown to virgins, in whom dreadHunts their bliss like famished hounds;While the chiefs with roaring roundsTossed her to her lord, and sangPraise of him whose hand was large,Cheers for beauty brought to yield,Chirrups of the trot afield,Hurrahs of the battle-charge.

Under the thin hoop of gold

Whence in waves her hair outrolled,

'Twixt her brows the women saw

Shadows of a vulture's claw

Gript in flight: strange knots that sped

Closing and dissolving aye:

Such as wicked dreams betray

When pale dawn creeps o'er the bed.

They might show the common pang

Known to virgins, in whom dread

Hunts their bliss like famished hounds;

While the chiefs with roaring rounds

Tossed her to her lord, and sang

Praise of him whose hand was large,

Cheers for beauty brought to yield,

Chirrups of the trot afield,

Hurrahs of the battle-charge.

VIII.

Those rock-faces hung with weedReddened: their great days of speed,Slaughter, triumph, flood and flame,Like a jealous frenzy wrought,Scoffed at them and did them shame,Quaffing idle, conquering naught.O for the time when God decreedEarth the prey of Attila!God called on thee in his wrath,Trample it to mire! 'Twas done.Swift as Danube clove our pathDown from East to Western sun.Huns! behold your pasture, gaze,Take, our king said: heel to flank(Whisper it, the warhorse neighs!)Forth we drove, and blood we drankFresh as dawn-dew: earth was ours:Men were flocks we lashed and spurned:Fast as windy flame devours,Flame along the wind, we burned.Arrow, javelin, spear, and sword!Here the snows and there the plains;On! our signal: onward pouredTorrents of the tightened reins,Foaming over vine and cornHot against the city-wall.Whisper it, you sound a hornTo the grey beast in the stall!Yea, he whinnies at a nod.O for sound of the trumpet-notes!O for the time when thunder-shod,He that scarce can munch his oats,Hung on the peaks, brooded aloof,Champed the grain of the wrath of God,Pressed a cloud on the cowering roof,Snorted out of the blackness fire!Scarlet broke the sky, and down,Hammering West with print of his hoof,He burst out of the bosom of ireSharp as eyelight under thy frown,Attila, my Attila!

Those rock-faces hung with weed

Reddened: their great days of speed,

Slaughter, triumph, flood and flame,

Like a jealous frenzy wrought,

Scoffed at them and did them shame,

Quaffing idle, conquering naught.

O for the time when God decreed

Earth the prey of Attila!

God called on thee in his wrath,

Trample it to mire! 'Twas done.

Swift as Danube clove our path

Down from East to Western sun.

Huns! behold your pasture, gaze,

Take, our king said: heel to flank

(Whisper it, the warhorse neighs!)

Forth we drove, and blood we drank

Fresh as dawn-dew: earth was ours:

Men were flocks we lashed and spurned:

Fast as windy flame devours,

Flame along the wind, we burned.

Arrow, javelin, spear, and sword!

Here the snows and there the plains;

On! our signal: onward poured

Torrents of the tightened reins,

Foaming over vine and corn

Hot against the city-wall.

Whisper it, you sound a horn

To the grey beast in the stall!

Yea, he whinnies at a nod.

O for sound of the trumpet-notes!

O for the time when thunder-shod,

He that scarce can munch his oats,

Hung on the peaks, brooded aloof,

Champed the grain of the wrath of God,

Pressed a cloud on the cowering roof,

Snorted out of the blackness fire!

Scarlet broke the sky, and down,

Hammering West with print of his hoof,

He burst out of the bosom of ire

Sharp as eyelight under thy frown,

Attila, my Attila!

IX.

Ravaged cities rolling smokeThick on cornfields dry and black,Wave his banners, bear his yoke.Track the lightning, and you trackAttila. They moan: 'tis he!Bleed: 'tis he! Beneath his footLeagues are deserts charred and mute;Where he passed, there passed a sea.Attila, my Attila!

Ravaged cities rolling smoke

Thick on cornfields dry and black,

Wave his banners, bear his yoke.

Track the lightning, and you track

Attila. They moan: 'tis he!

Bleed: 'tis he! Beneath his foot

Leagues are deserts charred and mute;

Where he passed, there passed a sea.

Attila, my Attila!

—Who breathed on the king cold breath?Said a voice amid the host,He is Death that weds a ghost,Else a ghost that weds with Death?Ildico's chill little handShuddering he beheld: austereStared, as one who would commandSight of what has filled his ear:Plucked his thin beard, laughed disdain.Feast, ye Huns! His arm he raised,Like the warrior, battle-dazed,Joining to the fight amain.Make the bed for Attila!

—Who breathed on the king cold breath?

Said a voice amid the host,

He is Death that weds a ghost,

Else a ghost that weds with Death?

Ildico's chill little hand

Shuddering he beheld: austere

Stared, as one who would command

Sight of what has filled his ear:

Plucked his thin beard, laughed disdain.

Feast, ye Huns! His arm he raised,

Like the warrior, battle-dazed,

Joining to the fight amain.

Make the bed for Attila!

XI.

Silent Ildico stood up.King and chief to pledge her well,Shocked sword sword and cup on cup,Clamouring like a brazen bell.Silent stepped the queenly slave.Fair, by heaven! she was to meetOn a midnight, near a grave,Flapping wide the winding-sheet.

Silent Ildico stood up.

King and chief to pledge her well,

Shocked sword sword and cup on cup,

Clamouring like a brazen bell.

Silent stepped the queenly slave.

Fair, by heaven! she was to meet

On a midnight, near a grave,

Flapping wide the winding-sheet.

XII.

Death and she walked through the crowd,Out beyond the flush of light.Ceremonious women bowedFollowing her: 'twas middle night.Then the warriors each on eachSpied, nor overloudly laughed;Like the victims of the leech,Who have drunk of a strange draught.

Death and she walked through the crowd,

Out beyond the flush of light.

Ceremonious women bowed

Following her: 'twas middle night.

Then the warriors each on each

Spied, nor overloudly laughed;

Like the victims of the leech,

Who have drunk of a strange draught.

XIII.

Attila remained. Even soFrowned he when he struck the blow,Brained his horse that stumbled twiceOn a bloody day in Gaul,Bellowing, Perish omens! AllMarvelled at the sacrifice,But the battle, swinging dim,Rang off that axe-blow for himAttila, my Attila!

Attila remained. Even so

Frowned he when he struck the blow,

Brained his horse that stumbled twice

On a bloody day in Gaul,

Bellowing, Perish omens! All

Marvelled at the sacrifice,

But the battle, swinging dim,

Rang off that axe-blow for him

Attila, my Attila!

XIV.

Brightening over Danube wheeledStar by star; and she, most fair,Sweet as victory half-revealed,Seized to make him glad and young;She, O sweet as the dark signGiven him oft in battles gone,When the voice within said, Dare!And the trumpet-notes were sprungRapturous for the charge in line:She lay waiting: fair as dawnWrapped in folds of night she lay;Secret, lustrous; flaglike there,Waiting him to stream and ray,With one loosening blush outflung,Colours of his hordes of horseRanked for combat: still he hungLike the fever dreading air,Cursed of heat; and as a corseGathers vultures, in his brainImages of her eyes and kissPlucked at the limbs that could remainLoitering nigh the doors of bliss.Make the bed for Attila!

Brightening over Danube wheeled

Star by star; and she, most fair,

Sweet as victory half-revealed,

Seized to make him glad and young;

She, O sweet as the dark sign

Given him oft in battles gone,

When the voice within said, Dare!

And the trumpet-notes were sprung

Rapturous for the charge in line:

She lay waiting: fair as dawn

Wrapped in folds of night she lay;

Secret, lustrous; flaglike there,

Waiting him to stream and ray,

With one loosening blush outflung,

Colours of his hordes of horse

Ranked for combat: still he hung

Like the fever dreading air,

Cursed of heat; and as a corse

Gathers vultures, in his brain

Images of her eyes and kiss

Plucked at the limbs that could remain

Loitering nigh the doors of bliss.

Make the bed for Attila!

XV.

Passion on one hand, on one,Destiny led forth the Hun.Heard ye outcries of affright,Voices that through many a fray,In the press of flag and spear,Warned the king of peril near?Men were dumb, they gave him way,Eager heads to left and right,Like the bearded standard, thrust,As in battle, for a nodFrom their lord of battle-dust.Attila, my Attila!Slow between the lines he trod.Saw ye not the sun drop slowOn this nuptial day, ere evePierced him on the couch aglow?Attila, my Attila!Here and there his heart would cleaveClotted memory for a space:Some stout chief's familiar face,Choicest of his fighting brood,Touched him, as 'twere one to knowEre he met his bride's embrace.Attila, my Attila!Twisting fingers in a beardScant as winter underwood,With a narrowed eye he peered;Like the sunset's graver redUp old pine-stems. Grave he stoodEyeing them on whom was shedBurning light from him alone.Attila, my Attila!Red were they whose mouths recalledWhere the slaughter mounted high,High on it, o'er earth appalled,He; heaven's finger in their sightRaising him on waves of dead:Up to heaven his trumpets blown.O for the time when God's delightCrowned the head of Attila!Hungry river of the cragStretching hands for earth he came:Force and Speed astride his namePointed back to spear and flag.He came out of miracle cloud,Lightning-swift and spectre-lean.Now those days are in a shroud:Have him to his ghostly queen.Make the bed for Attila!

Passion on one hand, on one,

Destiny led forth the Hun.

Heard ye outcries of affright,

Voices that through many a fray,

In the press of flag and spear,

Warned the king of peril near?

Men were dumb, they gave him way,

Eager heads to left and right,

Like the bearded standard, thrust,

As in battle, for a nod

From their lord of battle-dust.

Attila, my Attila!

Slow between the lines he trod.

Saw ye not the sun drop slow

On this nuptial day, ere eve

Pierced him on the couch aglow?

Attila, my Attila!

Here and there his heart would cleave

Clotted memory for a space:

Some stout chief's familiar face,

Choicest of his fighting brood,

Touched him, as 'twere one to know

Ere he met his bride's embrace.

Attila, my Attila!

Twisting fingers in a beard

Scant as winter underwood,

With a narrowed eye he peered;

Like the sunset's graver red

Up old pine-stems. Grave he stood

Eyeing them on whom was shed

Burning light from him alone.

Attila, my Attila!

Red were they whose mouths recalled

Where the slaughter mounted high,

High on it, o'er earth appalled,

He; heaven's finger in their sight

Raising him on waves of dead:

Up to heaven his trumpets blown.

O for the time when God's delight

Crowned the head of Attila!

Hungry river of the crag

Stretching hands for earth he came:

Force and Speed astride his name

Pointed back to spear and flag.

He came out of miracle cloud,

Lightning-swift and spectre-lean.

Now those days are in a shroud:

Have him to his ghostly queen.

Make the bed for Attila!

XVI.

One, with winecups overstrung,Cried him farewell in Rome's tongue.Who? for the great king turned as thoughWrath to the shaft's head strained the bow.Nay, not wrath the king possessed,But a radiance of the breast.In that sound he had the keyOf his cunning malady.Lo, where gleamed the sapphire lake,Leo, with his Rome at stake,Drew blank air to hues and forms;Whereof Two that shone distinct,Linked as orbed stars are linked,Clear among the myriad swarms,In a constellation, dashedFull on horse and rider's eyesSunless light, but light it was—Light that blinded and abashed,Froze his members, bade him pause,Caught him mid-gallop, blazed him home.Attila, my Attila!What are streams that cease to flow?What was Attila, rolled thence,Cheated by a juggler's show?Like that lake of blue intense,Under tempest lashed to foam,Lurid radiance, as he passed,Filled him, and around was glassed,When deep-voiced he uttered, Rome!

One, with winecups overstrung,

Cried him farewell in Rome's tongue.

Who? for the great king turned as though

Wrath to the shaft's head strained the bow.

Nay, not wrath the king possessed,

But a radiance of the breast.

In that sound he had the key

Of his cunning malady.

Lo, where gleamed the sapphire lake,

Leo, with his Rome at stake,

Drew blank air to hues and forms;

Whereof Two that shone distinct,

Linked as orbed stars are linked,

Clear among the myriad swarms,

In a constellation, dashed

Full on horse and rider's eyes

Sunless light, but light it was—

Light that blinded and abashed,

Froze his members, bade him pause,

Caught him mid-gallop, blazed him home.

Attila, my Attila!

What are streams that cease to flow?

What was Attila, rolled thence,

Cheated by a juggler's show?

Like that lake of blue intense,

Under tempest lashed to foam,

Lurid radiance, as he passed,

Filled him, and around was glassed,

When deep-voiced he uttered, Rome!

XVII.

Rome! the word was: and like meatFlung to dogs the word was torn.Soon Rome's magic priests shall bleatRound their magic Pope forlorn!Loud they swore the king had swornVengeance on the Roman cheat,Ere he passed as, grave and still,Danube through the shouting hill:Sworn it by his naked life!Eagle, snakes these women are:Take them on the wing! but war,Smoking war's the warrior's wife!Then for plunder! then for bridesWon without a winking priest!—Danube whirled his train of tidesBlack toward the yellow East.Make the bed for Attila!

Rome! the word was: and like meat

Flung to dogs the word was torn.

Soon Rome's magic priests shall bleat

Round their magic Pope forlorn!

Loud they swore the king had sworn

Vengeance on the Roman cheat,

Ere he passed as, grave and still,

Danube through the shouting hill:

Sworn it by his naked life!

Eagle, snakes these women are:

Take them on the wing! but war,

Smoking war's the warrior's wife!

Then for plunder! then for brides

Won without a winking priest!—

Danube whirled his train of tides

Black toward the yellow East.

Make the bed for Attila!

XVIII.

Chirrups of the trot afield,Hurrahs of the battle-charge,How they answered, how they pealed,When the morning rose and drewBow and javelin, lance and targe,In the nuptial casement's view!Attila, my Attila!Down the hillspurs, out of tentsGlimmering in mid-forest, throughMists of the cool morning scents,Forth from city-alley, court,Arch, the bounding horsemen flew,Joined along the plains of dew,Raced and gave the rein to sport,Closed and streamed like curtain-rentsFluttered by a wind, and flowedInto squadrons: trumpets blew,Chargers neighed, and trappings glowedBrave as the bright Orient's.Look on the seas that run to greetSunrise: look on the leagues of wheat:Look on the lines and squares that fretLeaping to level the lance blood-wet.Tens of thousands, man and steed,Tossing like field-flowers in Spring;Ready to be hurled at needWhither their great lord may sling.Finger Romeward, Romeward, King!Attila, my Attila!Still the woman holds him fastAs a night-flag round the mast.

Chirrups of the trot afield,

Hurrahs of the battle-charge,

How they answered, how they pealed,

When the morning rose and drew

Bow and javelin, lance and targe,

In the nuptial casement's view!

Attila, my Attila!

Down the hillspurs, out of tents

Glimmering in mid-forest, through

Mists of the cool morning scents,

Forth from city-alley, court,

Arch, the bounding horsemen flew,

Joined along the plains of dew,

Raced and gave the rein to sport,

Closed and streamed like curtain-rents

Fluttered by a wind, and flowed

Into squadrons: trumpets blew,

Chargers neighed, and trappings glowed

Brave as the bright Orient's.

Look on the seas that run to greet

Sunrise: look on the leagues of wheat:

Look on the lines and squares that fret

Leaping to level the lance blood-wet.

Tens of thousands, man and steed,

Tossing like field-flowers in Spring;

Ready to be hurled at need

Whither their great lord may sling.

Finger Romeward, Romeward, King!

Attila, my Attila!

Still the woman holds him fast

As a night-flag round the mast.

XIX.

Nigh upon the fiery noon,Out of ranks a roaring burst.'Ware white women like the moon!They are poison: they have thirstFirst for love, and next for rule.Jealous of the army, she?Ho, the little wanton fool!We were his before she squealedBlind for mother's milk, and heeledKicking on her mother's knee.His in life and death are we:She but one flower of a field.We have given him bliss tenfoldIn an hour to match her night:Attila, my Attila!Still her arms the master hold,As on wounds the scarf winds tight.

Nigh upon the fiery noon,

Out of ranks a roaring burst.

'Ware white women like the moon!

They are poison: they have thirst

First for love, and next for rule.

Jealous of the army, she?

Ho, the little wanton fool!

We were his before she squealed

Blind for mother's milk, and heeled

Kicking on her mother's knee.

His in life and death are we:

She but one flower of a field.

We have given him bliss tenfold

In an hour to match her night:

Attila, my Attila!

Still her arms the master hold,

As on wounds the scarf winds tight.

XX.

Over Danube day no more,Like the warrior's planted spear,Stood to hail the King: in fearWestern day knocked at his door.Attila, my Attila!Sudden in the army's eyesRolled a blast of lights and cries:Flashing through them: Dead are ye!Dead, ye Huns, and torn piecemeal!See the ordered army reelStricken through the ribs: and see,Wild for speed to cheat despair,Horsemen, clutching knee to chin,Crouch and dart they know not where.Attila, my Attila!Faces covered, faces bare,Light the palace-front like jetsOf a dreadful fire within.Beating hands and driving hairStart on roof and parapets.Dust rolls up; the slaughter din.—Death to them who call him dead!Death to them who doubt the tale!Choking in his dusty veil,Sank the sun on his death-bed.Make the bed for Attila!

Over Danube day no more,

Like the warrior's planted spear,

Stood to hail the King: in fear

Western day knocked at his door.

Attila, my Attila!

Sudden in the army's eyes

Rolled a blast of lights and cries:

Flashing through them: Dead are ye!

Dead, ye Huns, and torn piecemeal!

See the ordered army reel

Stricken through the ribs: and see,

Wild for speed to cheat despair,

Horsemen, clutching knee to chin,

Crouch and dart they know not where.

Attila, my Attila!

Faces covered, faces bare,

Light the palace-front like jets

Of a dreadful fire within.

Beating hands and driving hair

Start on roof and parapets.

Dust rolls up; the slaughter din.

—Death to them who call him dead!

Death to them who doubt the tale!

Choking in his dusty veil,

Sank the sun on his death-bed.

Make the bed for Attila!

XXI.

'Tis the room where thunder sleeps.Frenzy, as a wave to shoreSurging, burst the silent door,And drew back to awful deeps,Breath beaten out, foam-white. AnewHowled and pressed the ghastly crew,Like storm-waters over rocks.Attila, my Attila!One long shaft of sunset redLaid a finger on the bed.Horror, with the snaky locks,Shocked the surge to stiffened heaps,Hoary as the glacier's headFaced to the moon. Insane they look.God it is in heaven who weepsFallen from his hand the Scourge he shook.Make the bed for Attila!

'Tis the room where thunder sleeps.

Frenzy, as a wave to shore

Surging, burst the silent door,

And drew back to awful deeps,

Breath beaten out, foam-white. Anew

Howled and pressed the ghastly crew,

Like storm-waters over rocks.

Attila, my Attila!

One long shaft of sunset red

Laid a finger on the bed.

Horror, with the snaky locks,

Shocked the surge to stiffened heaps,

Hoary as the glacier's head

Faced to the moon. Insane they look.

God it is in heaven who weeps

Fallen from his hand the Scourge he shook.

Make the bed for Attila!

XXII.

Square along the couch, and stark,Like the sea-rejected thingSea-sucked white, behold their King.Attila, my Attila!Beams that panted black and bright,Scornful lightnings danced their sight:Him they see an oak in bud,Him an oaklog stripped of bark:Him, their lord of day and night,White, and lifting up his bloodDumb for vengeance. Name us that,Huddled in the corner dark,Humped and grinning like a cat,Teeth for lips!—'tis she! she stares,Glittering through her bristled hairs.Rend her! Pierce her to the hilt!She is Murder: have her out!What! this little fist, as bigAs the southern summer fig!She is Madness, none may doubt.Death, who dares deny her guilt!Death, who says his blood she spilt!Make the bed for Attila!

Square along the couch, and stark,

Like the sea-rejected thing

Sea-sucked white, behold their King.

Attila, my Attila!

Beams that panted black and bright,

Scornful lightnings danced their sight:

Him they see an oak in bud,

Him an oaklog stripped of bark:

Him, their lord of day and night,

White, and lifting up his blood

Dumb for vengeance. Name us that,

Huddled in the corner dark,

Humped and grinning like a cat,

Teeth for lips!—'tis she! she stares,

Glittering through her bristled hairs.

Rend her! Pierce her to the hilt!

She is Murder: have her out!

What! this little fist, as big

As the southern summer fig!

She is Madness, none may doubt.

Death, who dares deny her guilt!

Death, who says his blood she spilt!

Make the bed for Attila!

XXIII.

Torch and lamp and sunset-redFell three-fingered on the bed.In the torch the beard-hair scantWith the great breast seemed to pant:In the yellow lamp the limbsWavered, as the lake-flower swims:In the sunset red the deadDead avowed him, dry blood-red.

Torch and lamp and sunset-red

Fell three-fingered on the bed.

In the torch the beard-hair scant

With the great breast seemed to pant:

In the yellow lamp the limbs

Wavered, as the lake-flower swims:

In the sunset red the dead

Dead avowed him, dry blood-red.

XXIV.

Hatred of that abject slave,Earth, was in each chieftain's heart.Earth has got him, whom God gave,Earth may sing, and earth shall smart!Attila, my Attila!

Hatred of that abject slave,

Earth, was in each chieftain's heart.

Earth has got him, whom God gave,

Earth may sing, and earth shall smart!

Attila, my Attila!

XXV.

Thus their prayer was raved and ceased.Then had Vengeance of her feastScent in their quick pang to smiteWhich they knew not, but huge painUrged them for some victim slainSwift, and blotted from the sight.Each at each, a crouching beast,Glared, and quivered for the word.Each at each, and all on that,Humped and grinning like a cat,Head-bound with its bridal-wreath.Then the bitter chamber heardVengeance in a cauldron seethe.Hurried counsel rage and craftYelped to hungry men, whose teethHard the grey lip-ringlet gnawed,Gleaming till their fury laughed.With the steel-hilt in the clutch,Eyes were shot on her that frozeIn their blood-thirst overawed;Burned to rend, yet feared to touch.She that was his nuptial rose,She was of his heart's blood clad:Oh! the last of him she had!—Could a little fist as bigAs the southern summer fig,Push a dagger's point to pierceRibs like those? Who else! They glaredEach at each. Suspicion fierceMany a black remembrance bared.Attila, my Attila!Death, who dares deny her guilt!Death, who says his blood she spilt!Traitor he, who stands between!Swift to hell, who harms the Queen!She, the wild contention's cause,Combed her hair with quiet paws.Make the bed for Attila!

Thus their prayer was raved and ceased.

Then had Vengeance of her feast

Scent in their quick pang to smite

Which they knew not, but huge pain

Urged them for some victim slain

Swift, and blotted from the sight.

Each at each, a crouching beast,

Glared, and quivered for the word.

Each at each, and all on that,

Humped and grinning like a cat,

Head-bound with its bridal-wreath.

Then the bitter chamber heard

Vengeance in a cauldron seethe.

Hurried counsel rage and craft

Yelped to hungry men, whose teeth

Hard the grey lip-ringlet gnawed,

Gleaming till their fury laughed.

With the steel-hilt in the clutch,

Eyes were shot on her that froze

In their blood-thirst overawed;

Burned to rend, yet feared to touch.

She that was his nuptial rose,

She was of his heart's blood clad:

Oh! the last of him she had!—

Could a little fist as big

As the southern summer fig,

Push a dagger's point to pierce

Ribs like those? Who else! They glared

Each at each. Suspicion fierce

Many a black remembrance bared.

Attila, my Attila!

Death, who dares deny her guilt!

Death, who says his blood she spilt!

Traitor he, who stands between!

Swift to hell, who harms the Queen!

She, the wild contention's cause,

Combed her hair with quiet paws.

Make the bed for Attila!

XXVI.

Night was on the host in arms.Night, as never night before,Hearkened to an army's roarBreaking up in snaky swarms:Torch and steel and snorting steed,Hunted by the cry of blood,Cursed with blindness, mad for day.Where the torches ran a flood,Tales of him and of the deedShowered like a torrent spray.Fear of silence made them striveLoud in warrior-hymns that grewHoarse for slaughter yet unwreaked.Ghostly Night across the hive,With a crimson finger drewLetters on her breast and shrieked.Night was on them like the mouldOn the buried half alive.Night, their bloody Queen, her foldWound on them and struck them through.Make the bed for Attila!

Night was on the host in arms.

Night, as never night before,

Hearkened to an army's roar

Breaking up in snaky swarms:

Torch and steel and snorting steed,

Hunted by the cry of blood,

Cursed with blindness, mad for day.

Where the torches ran a flood,

Tales of him and of the deed

Showered like a torrent spray.

Fear of silence made them strive

Loud in warrior-hymns that grew

Hoarse for slaughter yet unwreaked.

Ghostly Night across the hive,

With a crimson finger drew

Letters on her breast and shrieked.

Night was on them like the mould

On the buried half alive.

Night, their bloody Queen, her fold

Wound on them and struck them through.

Make the bed for Attila!

XXVII.

Earth has got him whom God gave,Earth may sing, and earth shall smart!None of earth shall know his grave.They that dig with Death depart.Attila, my Attila!

Earth has got him whom God gave,

Earth may sing, and earth shall smart!

None of earth shall know his grave.

They that dig with Death depart.

Attila, my Attila!

XXVIII.

Thus their prayer was raved and passed:Passed in peace their red sunset:Hewn and earthed those men of sweatWho had housed him in the vast,Where no mortal might declare,There lies he—his end was there!Attila, my Attila!

Thus their prayer was raved and passed:

Passed in peace their red sunset:

Hewn and earthed those men of sweat

Who had housed him in the vast,

Where no mortal might declare,

There lies he—his end was there!

Attila, my Attila!

XXIX.

Kingless was the army left:Of its head the race bereft.Every fury of the pitTortured and dismembered it.Lo, upon a silent hour,When the pitch of frost subsides,Danube with a shout of powerLoosens his imprisoned tides:Wide around the frighted plainsShake to hear his riven chains,Dreadfuller than heaven in wrath,As he makes himself a path:High leap the ice-cracks, towering pileFloes to bergs, and giant peersWrestle on a drifted isle;Island on ice-island rears;Dissolution battles fast:Big the senseless Titans loom,Through a mist of common doomStriving which shall die the last:Till a gentle-breathing mornFrees the stream from bank to bank.So the Empire built of scornAgonized, dissolved and sank.Of the Queen no more was toldThan of leaf on Danube rolled.Make the bed for Attila!

Kingless was the army left:

Of its head the race bereft.

Every fury of the pit

Tortured and dismembered it.

Lo, upon a silent hour,

When the pitch of frost subsides,

Danube with a shout of power

Loosens his imprisoned tides:

Wide around the frighted plains

Shake to hear his riven chains,

Dreadfuller than heaven in wrath,

As he makes himself a path:

High leap the ice-cracks, towering pile

Floes to bergs, and giant peers

Wrestle on a drifted isle;

Island on ice-island rears;

Dissolution battles fast:

Big the senseless Titans loom,

Through a mist of common doom

Striving which shall die the last:

Till a gentle-breathing morn

Frees the stream from bank to bank.

So the Empire built of scorn

Agonized, dissolved and sank.

Of the Queen no more was told

Than of leaf on Danube rolled.

Make the bed for Attila!

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