On the black road through the woodAs I rode,There the Headless Horseman stood;By the wild pool in the wood,As I rode.From the shadow of an oak,As I rode,Demon steed and rider broke;By the thunder-shattered oak,As I rode.On the waste road through the plain,As I rode,At my back he whirled like rain;On the tempest-blackened plain,As I rode.Four fierce hoofs shod red with fire,As I rode,Woke the wild rocks, dark and dire;Eyes and nostrils streamed with fire,As I rode.On the deep road through the rocks,As I rode,I could reach his horse's locks;Through the echo-hurling rocks,As I rode.And again I looked behind,As I rode,—Dark as night and swift as wind,Towering, he rode behind,As I rode.On the steep road down the dell,As I rode,In the night I heard a bell,In the village in the dell,As I rode.And my soul called out in prayer,As I rode,—Lo! the demon went in air,Leaving me alone in prayer,As I rode.
On the black road through the woodAs I rode,There the Headless Horseman stood;By the wild pool in the wood,As I rode.
From the shadow of an oak,As I rode,Demon steed and rider broke;By the thunder-shattered oak,As I rode.
On the waste road through the plain,As I rode,At my back he whirled like rain;On the tempest-blackened plain,As I rode.
Four fierce hoofs shod red with fire,As I rode,Woke the wild rocks, dark and dire;Eyes and nostrils streamed with fire,As I rode.
On the deep road through the rocks,As I rode,I could reach his horse's locks;Through the echo-hurling rocks,As I rode.
And again I looked behind,As I rode,—Dark as night and swift as wind,Towering, he rode behind,As I rode.
On the steep road down the dell,As I rode,In the night I heard a bell,In the village in the dell,As I rode.
And my soul called out in prayer,As I rode,—Lo! the demon went in air,Leaving me alone in prayer,As I rode.
She.Nay; still amort, my love? Why dost thou lag?He.The strix-owl cried.She.Nay! yon wild stream that leapsHoarse from the black pines of the Hakel steeps,A moon-tipped water, down a glittering crag.—Why so aghast, sweetheart? Why dost thou stop?He.The demon-huntsman passed with hooting horn!She.Nay! 't was the blind wind sweeping through the thornAround the ruins of the Dumburg's top.He.My limbs are cold.She.Come! warm thee in mine arms.He.Mine eyes are weary.She.Rest them, love, on mine.He.I am athirst.She.Quench on my lips thy thirst.—O dear belovéd, how thy last kiss warmsMy blood again!He.Off!... How thy eyeballs shine!Thy face!... thy form!... So do I die accursed!
She.
Nay; still amort, my love? Why dost thou lag?
He.
The strix-owl cried.
She.
Nay! yon wild stream that leapsHoarse from the black pines of the Hakel steeps,A moon-tipped water, down a glittering crag.—Why so aghast, sweetheart? Why dost thou stop?
He.
The demon-huntsman passed with hooting horn!
She.
Nay! 't was the blind wind sweeping through the thornAround the ruins of the Dumburg's top.
He.
My limbs are cold.
She.
Come! warm thee in mine arms.
He.
Mine eyes are weary.
She.
Rest them, love, on mine.
He.
I am athirst.
She.
Quench on my lips thy thirst.—O dear belovéd, how thy last kiss warmsMy blood again!
He.
Off!... How thy eyeballs shine!Thy face!... thy form!... So do I die accursed!
In ages dead, a troglodyte,At the hollow roots of a monster height,—That grew from the heart of the world to light,—I dwelt in caverns: over meWere mountains older than the moon;And forests vaster than the sea,And gulfs, that the earthquake's hand had hewn,Hung under me. And late and soonI heard the dæmon of change that sighedA cosmic language of mystery;While life sat silent, primeval-eyed,With the infant spirit of prophecy.Gaunt stars glared down on the Titan peaks;And the gaunter glare of the cratered streaksOf the sunset's ruin heard condor shrieks.The roar of cataracts hurled in air,And the hurricane laying his thunders bare,And rush of battling beasts,—whose lairWas the antechamber of nadir-gloom,—Were my outworld joys. But who shall tellThe awe of the depths that heard the boomOf the iron rivers that fashioned Hell!
In ages dead, a troglodyte,At the hollow roots of a monster height,—That grew from the heart of the world to light,—I dwelt in caverns: over meWere mountains older than the moon;And forests vaster than the sea,And gulfs, that the earthquake's hand had hewn,Hung under me. And late and soonI heard the dæmon of change that sighedA cosmic language of mystery;While life sat silent, primeval-eyed,With the infant spirit of prophecy.
Gaunt stars glared down on the Titan peaks;And the gaunter glare of the cratered streaksOf the sunset's ruin heard condor shrieks.The roar of cataracts hurled in air,And the hurricane laying his thunders bare,And rush of battling beasts,—whose lairWas the antechamber of nadir-gloom,—Were my outworld joys. But who shall tellThe awe of the depths that heard the boomOf the iron rivers that fashioned Hell!
Wide-walled it stands in heathen landsBeside a mystic sea,With streets strange-trod of many a god,And templed blasphemy.Far in the night, a rose of lightIt shines beside the sea;But overhead an unknown dreadImpends eternally.There is a sound above, aroundOf music by the sea;And weird and wide the torches glideOf pagan revelry.There is a noise as of a voiceThat calls beneath the sea;And all the deep grows pale with sleepAnd vague expectancy.Then slowly up—as from a cupSeethes poison—lifts the sea;Wild mass on mass, as in black glass,The town glows fiery.Red-lit it glowers like Hell's dark towersSet in the iron sea;And monster swarms with awful formsRoll though it cloudily.Still overhead the unknown dread,Whose shadow dyes the sea,At wrath-winged wait behind its gateTill God shall set it free.A taloned flash, an earthquake crash,And, lo! upon the sea,Black wall on wall, a giant pall,Night settles hideously.And where it burned, a rose inurned,Red in the vasty sea,The phantasm of the dread aboveSits in immensity.
Wide-walled it stands in heathen landsBeside a mystic sea,With streets strange-trod of many a god,And templed blasphemy.
Far in the night, a rose of lightIt shines beside the sea;But overhead an unknown dreadImpends eternally.
There is a sound above, aroundOf music by the sea;And weird and wide the torches glideOf pagan revelry.
There is a noise as of a voiceThat calls beneath the sea;And all the deep grows pale with sleepAnd vague expectancy.
Then slowly up—as from a cupSeethes poison—lifts the sea;Wild mass on mass, as in black glass,The town glows fiery.
Red-lit it glowers like Hell's dark towersSet in the iron sea;And monster swarms with awful formsRoll though it cloudily.
Still overhead the unknown dread,Whose shadow dyes the sea,At wrath-winged wait behind its gateTill God shall set it free.
A taloned flash, an earthquake crash,And, lo! upon the sea,Black wall on wall, a giant pall,Night settles hideously.
And where it burned, a rose inurned,Red in the vasty sea,The phantasm of the dread aboveSits in immensity.
To me all beauty that I seeIs melody made visible:An earth-translated state, may be,Of music heard in Heaven or Hell.Out of some love-impassioned strainOf saints, the rose evolved its bloom;And, dreaming of it here again,Perhaps re-lives it as perfume.Out of some chant that demons singOf hate and pain, the sunset grew;And, haply, still remembering,Re-lives it here as some wild hue.
To me all beauty that I seeIs melody made visible:An earth-translated state, may be,Of music heard in Heaven or Hell.
Out of some love-impassioned strainOf saints, the rose evolved its bloom;And, dreaming of it here again,Perhaps re-lives it as perfume.
Out of some chant that demons singOf hate and pain, the sunset grew;And, haply, still remembering,Re-lives it here as some wild hue.
THE END
FIVE HUNDRED AND FIFTY COPIES OFTHIS BOOK (THIRTY-FIVE COPIES OFWHICH ARE ON HANDMADE PAPER)WERE PRINTED DURING MARCH BYJOHN WILSON AND SON CAMBRIDGE