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The following sections, if they exist, are offprint from Beacham's Guide to Literature for Young Adults: "About the Author", "Overview", "Setting", "Literary Qualities", "Social Sensitivity", "Topics for Discussion", "Ideas for Reports and Papers". (c)1994-2005, by Walton Beacham.
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Table of Contents | |
Section | Page |
Start of eBook | 1 |
THE ARCTIC QUEEN. | 1 |
PART FIRST. | 1 |
PART SECOND. | 12 |
PART THIRD. | 22 |
OENE, of all the chilly Arctics,
queen,
Ascended to her everlasting
throne
Built on the steadfast centre
of the world,
And waited for the middle
hour of night,
Now swiftly coming, to convene
her court.
Set in an ocean of perpetual
calm
Was the fair island honoured
by her reign;
Slowly around her rolled the
Frigid Zone,
Dim in the mystic moonlight
far away,—
A silvery ring, circling her
nearer realm
With the pale lustre of its
snowy walls,
Defending from all storm and
sudden change
The sea which bathed the island’s
level shores.
She sat upon her throne, and
none might tell
Whether her limbs the lambent
lustre cast
Upon the pearls of which it
was composed,
Or they cast beauty on her
glowing form.
Around her feet a pavement
spread, inlaid
Of squares of roseate sea-shells,
set about
With purple gems, unknown
in other lands;—
Thence, winding paths, sprinkled
with golden sand,
Ran out, through bowers of
flowers and fields of green
To meet the sea.
Low
in the South the Moon
Shone full against the island.
The North-star,
Sparkling and blazing like
a silver sun,
Stood at the Zenith, as a
lamp hung out
From heaven to charm the endless
Arctic night;—
And thus a soft profusion
of pure light,
More exquisite than sunshine,
fell abroad.
Unnipped by daintiest frosts,
in every field
Flowers crowded thick; and
trees, not tall nor rude,
With slender stems upholding
feathery shade,
Nodded their heads and hung
their pliant limbs
In natural bowers, sweet with
delicious gloom.
Queen OENE sent her luminous
glance afar:
Fine rays of tintless light
played round her head,
Crowning her beauty with mysterious
glory.
She gazed away, beyond the
tranquil sea,
To distant mountains of unchanging
snow,
And still beyond, to where
full many a tower
And fortress reared their
walls of gleaming ice
On the dim verges of her vast
domains.
Scarcely had she in silence
throned herself,
Ere from the trees, or flower-coves
of the shore,
Or gliding in from idling
on the sea,
Her maids of honor came, a
virgin train,
Like a bright constellation
clustering round
The central star, most glorious
of them all.
One, in a crimson blossom,
torn away
From its far moorings, nestled
at her ease,
Was seen slowly to skim the
silver lake;
While the huge flower seemed
of itself propelled,
Save that, by chance, a flushed
and saucy face,
Peeped from the waves, showing
a little imp
Who tugged at its stout stem
The first to touch the white
feet of the Queen
And place herself at her right
hand, was she.
Others came soon; all bright,
all beautiful,
With deep blue eyes, and sweet
mouths set in smiles.
Long chains of jewels rare
were, round their necks,
Twined many times; these,
flickering, rose and fell
With the soft breath their
full, graced bosoms drew.
From waist to knee of each
a tunic dropped
In many folds, woven in changing
hues
Of birds’ gay plumage,
and fringed deep with gems,
Which they with artless and
unenvying pride,
Would fain have made, each,
most magnificent.
They gathered round their
Queen, as midnight neared.
Suddenly, with the hour, there
came a change
Over the moonlight and the
courtly scene.
OENE upon the pavement pressed
her feet,
And out the North-Lights sprang,
to do her will,
From secret caverns underneath
its pearls.
O’er all the land she
bade them come and go;
Each battlemented iceberg
on the deep
Of other seas, and every snowy
hall,
And every citadel by frosts
upreared,
Were lighted with wild splendors,
as the troupes
Of messengers rushed swiftly
to and fro.
The people of the Arctics
knew their Queen
Summoned her subjects to the
Presence then
By wavering tints which played
beneath the Star,
And the great speed with which
the North-Lights flew.
They hurried even to the Temperate
Zone.
A band of phantom spirits
took wings and flew
Far to the southern sky, a
fluttering crowd.
A warrior, yellow garbed,
with fiery spear,
Bestrode a frantic steed,
and looked not back
Till he alighted on a distant
hill.
With scintillant flames some
perched on towers remote
Or bore green banners o’er
the mirroring sea,
Or flitted through dim valleys,
bright and fast,
Casting their flickering shadows
down the deep
And awful solitudes of Arctic
lands.
Such of her people as had
aught to ask
Of favor or redress, from
air and earth,
Came now, bringing petitions,
councils, gifts.
Some slid on twinkling star-beams
through the air,
Some sailed in shallops over
the light waves,
And all who came had presents
for their Queen,—
There came, as time rolled
by, from the far verge
Of her vast realm, the rugged
guardian ghouls,
Stationed in fortresses and
waging war
On all encroachers from the
hated South.
These had wild forms and gaunt;
their dress was rude—
Skins of the white bear fastened
to their loins.
They bore long, glistening
spears, and deadly clubs
Wrenched from the spines of
monsters of the sea.
Their gifts were rude as they,
and yet their Queen
Unbent the radiant quiet of
her brow,
Gazing with favor on these
proofs of valor.
Tales of achievements dread,
of battles, deaths,
Had they to speak, while,
with pleased ear intent,
Their sovereign listened.
One
warrior ghoul
With crispy locks and frosty
eyes, and breath
Chiller than death’s,—naked,
as scorning e’en
To wear the trophies of his
fierce renown—
Before the Presence stood,
and told in haste,—
As half impatient of the wish
to boast,
Yet proud to serve so well—how
he was called
WOLE, guardian of old Thug;—how
from the South
Came, ploughing slowly through
the unwilling sea,
A ship, crowded with mortals
from that land;
How, boldly, in defiance of
commands
Sent out by skirmishing Frosts,
they still drew near,
Passing the outer line of
her domains;
Daring to come, with their
invading eyes,
Where never mortals else had
looked and lived.
He told,—and here
he glanced, upon his friends,
Eyes of bright scorn—how
the imperious ship
Passed safely Tug and Dor,
though all the guards
Shot barbs of ice, and filled
the air with fine,
Invisible needles, piercing
their pained flesh,
And tore their stiffening
sails with sharp-teethed winds;
How, still, the ship pressed
on where He kept watch,
Ready to do new service for
his Queen:
How, as it closer came, he
fixed his eyes
Relentlessly upon it, till
nor hand,
Nor foot, nor eyelid of the
fated crew
Had power to stir, nor even
the sails to flap,
While banded winds which he
sent forth, still drove
The doomed ones onward to
the eager shore,
Where every soul had perished,
one by one.
“Thou hast done well, old WOLE,” Queen OENE said.
Stepping a pace in front of
her companions,
With bashful cheek, but with
a kindling eye—
“’Tis not for
one like me to have a thought
In thy rare presence, Queen,”
KOLONA said,—
“Yet I would dare to
tell thee what I saw
Only a moon ago, when a wild
freak
Possessed me to go voyaging
alone,
Across the sea, to find what
curious things
The other shore might hold.
My lily bark,
Being too frail for such a
venturous cruise
I borrowed GONDOR’s
boat of nautilus’ shells,
Put up my lua-leaf sail and
swiftly sped
Across the ocean, till this
level isle
Grew smaller than a star.
The air grew cold:—
I almost shivered in my bird’s-down
mantle;
But when I neared the opposing
shore, the sight
Of all its snowy scenery,
repaid me.
Coasting along at leisure,
on a cliff
Which overhung the sea, I
saw appear
A being, whom I knew at once
as Man.—
One of that mortal race which
we have kept
Forever, since our chronicles
began,
With war assiduous, from our
inner realms,
Still undefiled by their invading
feet.
The choking hurry of my noisy
heart
Told me the truth. At
first I would have fled,
But, being unperceived by
him, I lingered,—
Inquisitive and wilful that
I am.
Thenceforth, sweet Queen,
I never can forget
The face of this one man which
I have seen.
Triumph was on his brow, and
yet not that
So much as doubt and earnest
questioning.
Something arose into his eyes
and shone
Which must have been his Soul;
it searched the deep,
The earth, the sky, with bright
and troubled gaze;
And then, glanced forward
with so still a look,
It seemed that it, perforce,
would vanish space,
And bring our secret world
within its ken;
Yet, with no cruelty or wantonness,
Such as we hear gleamed from
the cunning eyes
Of those fierce hordes who,
centuries ago,
Came in their boats and strove
to conquer us.
Knowledge was what it craved,
with truth it burned;
A majesty we cannot name,
expressed
Its power within his features.
Then I felt
That, could I bring him to
thy gracious feet
He would reveal to us that
mystery
The dream of which so oft
hath troubled us,
Breaking upon us, like the
light of Heaven,
Too high for us to fix its
source—that spoke
Of an eternal, comprehensive
Life,
The thought of which doth
haunt us. In return
We could bestow the knowledge
which he craved,
And link his name with ours
through all the earth,
Fearless of harm from one
who only craves
The crown of Genius for his
soul-lit brow.
Almost I rowed my shallop
to his feet;
Almost I offered to convey
him hither,
Yet feared so much, O, Queen,
thy just displeasure,
That I forbore.
“Long
time he, gazing, stood;
And when he turned, ’twas
with so deep a sigh
The sound awakened in me strange
regret,
Endless reproach, and grief
before unknown.
Art angry with thy maiden,
peerless Queen?”
Over the lustrous forehead
of OENE
A shadow came, and deepened
in her eyes.
“I might have slain
thee both, if thou hadst ventured;
For it is part of our ancestral
law,
The most immutable, to guard
ourselves,
With our severest powers,
from envious Man.
Yet, as thou sayest, he might
have fed our hearts
With sweet immortal food—aye,
given us souls,
If such things be,—worth
half my priceless realms.
No more—no more!
KOLONA! take thy place!”
As a soft flower shrinks from
the coming night,
Amid protecting leaves, KOLONA
shrank,
Amid her tresses, from her
sovereign’s eyes,
So gloomy yet so kind; and
mutely stood
Amid the bright and coyly
wondering train.
A band of sprites, armed with
sharp, silver spears,
With pearl-encrusted garb
and gleaming sandals,
Dwelling low down the land,
even amid men,
The Queen’s advance
guard, giving due alarm
Of all attacks, taking short
flights by night,
And reconnoitering the southern
world,—
Had sent a group to counsel
with their Queen.
These, now, had much to say
of an adventure
Which took them almost to
the Tropic Zone:—
How they had blighted fruit;
and mildews cast
Over the fields; and blasted
flowering trees;
Nipping the hopes of gaudy
butterflies,
Doting on honeyed flowers
to fill their mouths;
Chilling the saucy birds within
their nests;
Ruining the rainbow hues of
many a garden;
Pricking the insect world
with their fine spears,
And disappointing mortals
of their wish.
Their somewhat boastful discourse
these had ceased,
When came in hosts a crowd
around the Pole,
Parting on each side to make
way for one,
A stranger, craving audience
of their Queen.
What saw those weird and piercing
eyes, full turned
To meet the coming throng?—a
singular sight,
Which filled them with bright
anger and surprise!
Up from the sea, along a silvery
path,
A mortal came; her girlish
feet the first
That ever pressed the veritable
Pole;
And not more strange to her
was this wild queen,
And all the fairness of these
maids of honor,
Than was her sunny beauty
unto them.
The fluttering brightness
of her golden hair,
The lustrous darkness of her
eyes, the warmth
Of tropic tints upon her brow
and cheek,
The dimpled fullness of her
form, appeared
In vivid contrast with their
fairer charms.
She held an offering of gorgeous
flowers—
Those most renowned for fragrance—in
“Warriors! do ye permit this sight!” she cried.
The lightest breath of that
majestic voice
Had ever been with prompt
obedience met;
But now, though hoarse and
deep as surging sea,
No spear was lowered and no
arrow bent.
The Pole-Queen raised aloft
her pale right arm;—
She stamped her haughty feet
upon the pave,—
And all the Powers of the
vast Frigid Zone
Were in commotion terrible:—the
earth
Shook till the people reeled,
and reeling, fell;
The circle of white gems about
the throne
Threw off strange darts of
light which smote like steel:
Swift whirling round with
inconceivable speed
A host of Northern Lights
sprang into air,
And, battling round their
Queen, confused and wild,
Blent with each other in the
fierce affray.
The frightened stars paled
in the distant sky;
And spectres rushed on shadowy
steeds of grey
Down the flushed firmament;
and shining spears,
Held by invisible hands, whirled
high o’erhead.
Pale mortals in the far off
Torrid Zone
Saw wonders in the Northern
air with fear;
And when an inward trembling
shook the Pole
Central through all the earth,
in distant lands
The mountains belched forth
fire on fated cities.
Behind the throne suddenly
arose a shower,
As ’twere of phosphorescent
flakes of snow,
Straight upward like a fountain,
and then fell
In glowing sparks wide over
all the land.
The surging sea dashed its
bewildered waves
Against the foreheads of gigantic
bergs,
Walking, like drunken men,
the noisy deep.
Anon the Pole was calm.
Uninjured stood
The mortal maid before the
great OENE;
While near, a thousand prostrate
subjects lay
Slain by an angry sovereign
disobeyed.
“Queen of this strange
and spectral land, wilt thou
Not show thy favor to a lonesome
child
Come wandering all this way,
impelled by love?
Not hate, ambition, curiosity,
Have led me to thy fair and
fearful presence.
I have no power, am but a
weak young girl;
And chance, alone, has thus
revealed to me
The mystic glory of this unknown
world,
With thy bright self and this
enchanted isle,—
This pearl upon the bosom
of the deep
So palely, purely fair—undreamed
of beauty!
Love is the sole excuse which
I can urge
For my intrusion”—here
the stranger blushed,
Drooping in silence her embarrassed
head.
“Speak on!” imperially
the Pole-Queen said,
Charmed in her own despite,
by that sweet face;
While LIR-LIR to KOLONA leaned
and smiled,
Commending, in a whisper,
what she saw:
And a soft flutter through
the courtly train
Stirred, like the shimmer
of a moonlit breeze
Kissing the waves:—“I
will thy message hear!”
And so the maiden, gathering
courage, said:
“Far in a blooming isle,
in Southern seas,
I had a home, whose walls,
of marble cool,
Were chequered by soft shadows,
hovering,
Like flocks of birds, about
its battlements;
For, all around, were trees,
whose glistening leaves
Danced ever, in the sunlight
or the moonlight,
To the soft flutes of the
Arcadian winds;
And to the sleepy music, drowsily
The gorgeous flowers nodded
their lovely heads.
Through the bright days, and
in my sleep at night,
I heard the ripples breaking
on the sand,
Till their continual murmur
grew to be
A thing of course,—like
sunshine and fresh air,—
Or like the love which grew
into my life,
As color into flowers when
they unfold.
The fluttering foliage and
the sighing waves
Seemed whispering “BERTHO!”
ever in my ear;
For BERTHO was my lover, and
my heart
Could find no other meaning
in their sound.
I was a princess of that blooming
isle;
But BERTHO—he was
poor! still, not so poor
As brave, high-souled, and
strangely venturesome.
He trusted to the sea to gain
his wealth,
As well as knowledge and a
manly fame.
Ah! how I wept, when told
that we must part!
How much more bitter tears
I shed that day
On which he left me, wretched,
by the shore,
Watching the gleam of his
receding sails!
“Dim grew the golden
air from that dark hour.
Like some rich flower, torn
from the wooing kiss
Of the warm sun, and hidden
in a cell,
I drooped, and lost the redness
of my cheeks.
All the wild thrills that
used to come and go,
Tumultuous, through my happy
heart, and send
The pulses flying through
my frame, died out.
“And thus in sadness
two long summers passed.
In madness or in wisdom my
poor brain
Wrought out a vision in my
troubled sleep,
Through which I saw my BERTHO,
and he bade
My soul be still and fear
not,—I should take
My little boat, in which I
used to skirt
The island shores, and loose
it on the deep,
Placing myself within it:—It
would come,
By force of an unknown and
magic current,
(The thought of which, in
speculative minds,
Had long been cherished,)
straightway to the shore
Of the strange country where,
enthralled, he dwelt.
If I still loved him, this
would prove my love!
“Straight from my couch
I rose, and like a ghost
Stole through the darkness
of my father’s halls;
Fled to the sea; and in my
fragile bark
I heaped a few fresh fruits,
and bore a vase
Filled with fresh water,—this
was all my store.
I loosed my shallop from the
anchoring rock,
And, as it drifted out upon
the tide,
I leaned upon the single,
slender oar
Whose aid was all I asked
upon the deep.
Before my yearning vision
lay my home,
Fading away from sight as
the full tide
Went murmuring back from its
delightful shores.
The loveliest hour of all
the twenty-four
Charmed earth and ocean, that
eventful time.
Moonlight and morning, softly
blending, lay
Upon the land; while down
the glassy sea,
Far in the distance, slowly
stole a band
Of sunrise glories, smiling,
looking back,
And glowing with warm splendors.
All the East
Was crimson with their blushes,
and the waves
Which followed in their bright
and stately way
Wore crests of gold, and purple-shaded
robes.
Next came light breezes blowing
from the land,
Odorous with roses, sweet
with drowsy songs
Of nightingales, and cool
with myrtle leaves,
Following down the path the
sunrise took.
And next, the stars went dimly
down the west,
Crowd upon crowd, in slow
and shining cars,
Bright wheeling down their
heaven-appointed way.
“All day the sun shadowed
himself in clouds;
My cheeks scarce browned beneath
his cooled rays.
At night I sank contentedly
to sleep,
Upon the silken cushions of
my bark;
Then mermaids, who, attracted
by my voice,
Had floated round me, underneath
the waves,
Not daring to appear, swam
near, reached out
Their arms of glowing white,
and touched the boat.
Charmed by the helplessness
of sleep in me,
They chanted sea-hymns, and
I, straightway, dreamed
Of tinkling fountains in my
father’s halls,
And how my lover sat beside
me there,
Murmuring his words of love
in my thrilled ear.
They rocked the bark, too,
with their lily hands,
As tender mothers rock their
cradled babes:
And one wild sea-nymph reached
and touched my hair—
I saw her through my dream!—and
one unstrung
The pearls from out her own
wave-wetted locks,
And flung them by me.
“The
fresh morn waked me;
A current, gentle as a musical
sound,
Swept the boat onward, as
by magic power.
At times I thought, perchance,
the nymphs beneath
Propelled it, but when I recalled
my dream,
I knew some freak of nature,
or some law,
By me uncomprehended, did
the work.
At night I heard the naiads,
in a tone
As soft as shepherd’s
reed, sing ocean-songs;
And sometimes, in the day,
“Thus on and on continuous days I fled;
No wind came now, blowing from flowery shores,
At times to startle me with dreams of home;
No more bewildering songs rose all the night
Around me; nor familiar faces glanced
An instant from the deep; nor long, fair fingers
Hung on the gilded prow.
“The
Temperate Zone
Had floated by like a long
stream of gold;
The Arctics lay before me,
vast and drear;
The sea was green and rough;
no gay fish darted
Like silver arrows from the
quivering wave;
But monsters, with thick scales
and hideous eyes,
Looked sullenly up in stupid
wonderment,
While some swam to’ards
me, with rapacious maws
Sharp-fanged and bloody, and
exulting fins
Flapping with demon slowness
their huge sides;—
And still I passed unhurt.
“Once
round my boat
For many hours an old sea-dragon
hovered.
His huge folds lay like rainbows
on the sea,
And his two eyes, like suns,
resplendent shone.
He seemed to guard thy realm,
O, mighty Queen!
And, with the cunning power
of those large eyes,
To awe intruders from thy
frozen world.
So fearlessly my gaze repelled
his own
I charmed this wary dragon
of the North;
The eyes that erst had sparkled
goldenly
With a malicious and infatuous
brightness,
Grew lost and dreaming in
a vacant splendor;
The rainbow lustre of his
lengthening folds
Faded to harmless green, till,
prone, he lay,
A floating dream of dread,
upon the deep;
Then, with the noiseless current
drifting on,
I passed your subtle guardian
swiftly by;
While only one faint sparkle,
green and gold,
Broke from his sluggish sides
as I swept past.
“The grandeur of your
floating towers of ice
Stole on my sight; the sea
rolled rough; the air
Was sharp and clear; and yet
this delicate robe
Was all sufficient to resist
its power.
Soon, upon every side, I saw
tall bergs.
A child of fragrant airs and
sunny skies,
Enervate with the South’s
soft luxuries,
These icebergs burst upon
me like a sense
Newly received, revealing
God anew.
While in the distance, calmly
floating on
Through the broad sunlight,
then I loved to dream
That they were palaces upreared
by gnomes,
With glittering towers and
“But, as I nearer drew,
I lost that dream
In one more gloomy. They
did seem to shape
Themselves to living giants;
lifting high
Their frowning foreheads,
crowned with fiery crowns.
As lower sank the sun towards
the sea,
Gloomier did they grow, with
their white hair
And lifted spears, walking
with mighty steps
The creaking floor of the
unsteady deep.—
Nodding defiantly at one another—
Meeting, with crashing spears
and splintered shields,
With hoarse cries, breast
to breast, in angry strife;
Their armor shivered at their
feet, the sea
Broken beneath their tread
and shuddering
At the great shock.
“More
thick these terrors grew;
Broad fields stretched out
in many a frozen ridge;
While far beyond were paths
of printless snow.
The ocean lay behind; and
yet my boat
Moved ever onward, up a watery
isle,
Opening, like a deep river,
through the ice.
A shadowy land spread out
on either side,
Where, moveless as some black
and brooding bird,
Night hovered, silent, vast,
and wonderful.
Thy Heralds, the North-Lights,
did startle me
Into new wonder by their glowing
shapes,
Swift rushing down the sky,
those phantasms wild,
Flushing, and paling in their
measureless speed.
“At length I drifted
into a new sea,
Where all was calm and warm,
and where no tower
Of ragged ice upreared itself.
On, on
I floated, while some lovely
fantasy
Seemed stealing my true sense—so
fair the scene.
Huge lillies, which no tropic
land might boast,
Slept on the water—like
embodied moonlight;
A mellow lustre bathed all
things; sweet birds
With rainbow plumage fluttered
through the air,
And this fair island dawned
upon my sight.
Soon on the shore rested my
vessel’s prow,
And I, ascending the bright
paths which spread
Through bowers of wond’rous
beauty, came to thee,
The central light of all this
loveliness.
This is my sin, if thou wilt
judge it such.
But love, the fondest that
did ever throb
In the warm heart of any mortal
maid,
It was, which brought me.
It must be, sweet Queen
OENE
answered back
The eager pleading of her
glance with one
Of chilly calmness, as she
thus replied:—
“There is no living
mortal in my realms,
Save thou alone, the first
who ever came.
Thy BERTHO, from a thousand
shades of men
Who roam the prisons of our
underworld,
Pray, how can we distinguish?
Would’st thou search?
Thou hast the liberty.
We will not lay
The slightest new obstruction
in thy way;
And this is mercy which we
did not deem
We should extend towards an
enemy.
We do not comprehend that
strange excess
Of passion which hath made
thee venture here.
But love, at least, is harmless.
Go thy ways.”
The innocent maidens, gathered
round their Queen,
Looked on with interest, as
the southern girl
Turned with a mute and trembling
lip, away.
Tula, who on KOLONA’s
shoulder leaned,
Sprang towards her, reaching
forth a friendly hand,
Whispering,—“Stay,
beautiful, and sup with us;
Our servant spirits have already
spread
The Feast of Borealis in the
field,”
But, Olive shook her
head, denying smiles
Deep in her wistful eyes,
and went her way.
Court being ended, from her
regal throne
OENE descended, passed the
glowing steps,
And, like a star that walks
the path of heaven
With a long train of light,
she and her maids
Glided in lustrous beauty
down the way,
And gathered to the Feast.
Above
the field,
Hedged round with lillies
growing tall and fair,
The North-Lights clustered
in a coronal,
And each held forth a lamp,
in the still air,
Of purple, blue or green,
crimson or rose,
Whose flickering splendors,
like soft rainbows, fell
Upon the table, spread with
fruits heaped high
On plates of delicate, transparent
shells;
While many a dainty, gathered
from the sea
Made more profuse the viands.
When
round the board
The guests had circled, e’er
one ruby drop
Of liquid passed their lips,
or food was touched,
The Virgins of the Court,
in voices flowing,
Did sing this song in honor
of the Feast,
While with a silent and a
magical grace,
The North-Lights danced, and
waved their flaming lamps:
Lueladar!
O mighty Star!
The flying meteors backward glance
On thee to gaze,
And bright auroras softly dance
In mutest praise;
And, to and fro,
With motion slow
Wave the lamps whence colors flow.
From every chrystal spire
Flames forth thy silver fire;
And glimmering wave, and rugged tower,
And valley snow, and island flower,
And the smooth ice, spread near and far
Thy mirrors are, Lueladar!
Lueladar!
Supremest Star!
The moon goes down beneath the world—
She lives to die!
The banners of the stars are furled,
The comets fly;
The red sun shines,
And still declines,
And after him the darkness pines;
But thou art e’er the same—
No flickering of thy flame—
No sinking down in time to rise
Doth change thy splendor in the skies:
For this we worship thee, afar,
Most glorious Star, Lueladar!
Lueladar!
Eternal Star!
Look with thy bright and burning eye
Upon our feast!
Thy silver robes flow o’er the sky
Our great High Priest!
Our world doth wear
Thy livery fair
From sparkling mount to jewel rare;
And every lightest flake
That drops into the lake;
And all the solemn beauty spread
Across the land, by thee is shed:—
Most magical thy influences are
Thou wond’rous Star, Lueladar!
Olive had crossed the mystic sea again,
Which spread its silver circle round the Pole.
Her feet were weary and her thoughts were sad.
Immeasurably tall the icy Thug,—
That wond’rous mountain of whose old renown
The Arctic world thought with exalted hearts—
Stood in her path and seemed to bar her way.
Four months of darkness in the valley slept,
Freezing in silent dreams; the Moon did crown
The hoary brow of the old headland, Thug,
With a dim glory, as of silver locks:—
It held its head aloft and seemed to be
Peering through heaven’s roof upon its God.
“Ah, BERTHO! BERTHO!”
the young traveller cried,
While rapid tears ran down
her grief-touched cheeks:—
“Is there no way save
this? My feet refuse
To do the bidding of my heart;
no more
This faithful bosom thy delight
shall be—
No more thine eyes shall smile
into mine own
Till both swim full of bliss—no
more thy mouth
Breathe its soft words and
kisses on my cheek,
Naming me thine—thine
only—thine forever!
Where art thou, BERTHO?
BERTHO! Cruel Thug;
Sink thyself in the sea, presumptuous
mount,
Till I can pluck my lover
from thy breast!”
The echo of her heart did
mock her cry;
Long time, she lay, half perished,
on the snow,
Till love revived, with its
eternal fires,
The warmth of purpose in her
chilly breast;
Then, springing to her feet,
she shook her curls,
In golden billows from her
brows, the while
That a sweet resoluteness
on her lip
Settled itself, and triumphed
in her eyes:—
“Torrent nor precipice,
nor jutting crag—
Night, spirits, ghouls, nor
ravenous wild beasts,
Distance, nor time, shall
fright me from the way,”
She said, and silently began
to climb,
Though avalanches roared from
steep to steep
And fear increased with every
“Nay, not the last! thou’rt not dead yet, my dear!
Look up, thou fairy, or thou mortal child—
I scarce know which—assure thyself of life.
Look up! look up! It cannot be I see
Before me, in this region of dispair,
A veritable mortal?”
By his voice
Recalled to life, the trembling girl arose.
Before her stood a man; and in his hand
A spear that dripped with her pursuer’s blood.
With still unconquered terror of the brute
She turned her head.
“Fear nothing, thou sweet child;
But if thou art what now thou dost appear,
A creature of that world from whence I come,
Let me but hear thy voice—but hear one word
Of my blest country’s language, and I’ll deem
The service I have done thee with this spear
Naught in comparison. Speak, quickly speak!”
“What shall I say, but thank thee for my life?
I am a maiden from far Southern climes
Come searching for my lover. Dost thou know
Where cruel OENE hast my BERTHO hidden?
What do’est thou here? It must be thou art come
In search of wife or child,—what other fate
Could lead thee to such barren heights as these?”
“Alas! dear child! there
are other springs than love
To move the human heart.
Ambition, may be;
Or better, a desire to serve
my Queen
And my illustrious country,
led me here.”
He paused and sighed.
She saw his locks were thin;
Some white with years, but
more with troubled toil;
And that he stood barefooted
in the snow.
The pitying tears began within
her eyes
To gather into brightness
as she gazed,
Upon the grey, sublime, forlorn
old man.
Coldly the moonlight glinted
o’er the group
Regarding each the other with
surprise:—
She, sad at his abandonment
of hope;
He, struck with mingled wonder
and delight
To meet this woman, beautiful
and young.
“Dear friend,”
she said, brushing away her tears,
“If thou wilt rest thee
on this smoothest rock
And tell me who thou art,
and whence did come,
And wherefore lingering here,
pleased will I listen.”
A smile stole o’er his
pale, storm-beaten face.—
“I know thee now, from
mother Eve descended,
By thy most feminine willingness
to hear,
The sorrows which did claim
thy ready tears
While they were but suspected.
Sit thee down.
Five years it is since, with
three stately ships
And sturdy crews to man them,
one proud day
I sailed away from the great
three-linked isle,
Under my fair Queen’s
sovereign patronage,
For the far Frigid Zone—the
wild, the fierce,
The unknown Arctic seas—through
their cold depths,
Their intricate, unmarked,
majestic ways,
To find a North-West Passage:
which wise men
And skillful mariners, learned
of the sea,
Suspected, through the navigator’s
art
Might to the world be opened.
High my heart
With courage and ambition
swelled its tides,
Knowledge I had and skill,
with enterprise;
And should I be successful,
future times
Should know my name, and future
mariners
Respect my fame and emulate
my deeds.
But one faint spot was there
in my proud heart,
And that was where my constant
wife, at parting,
Shed sorrowful tears, until
they did strike through,
A fear, into my breast, that
nevermore
That faithful brow should
lean to it again.
“To thee, if thou indeed hast safely passed
The horrors and the beauties of the sea,
I need not tell the ever-varying scenes
Of this most fearful voyage.
“Day
by day
I studied in my cabin over
charts;
Or, on the deck, learned of
the sea and sky
The subtle mariner’s
ever-changeful lore.
Prosperous we were, till o’er
the mystic bounds
Of OENE’s realms I sailed;
save now and then
Some noble sailor of my kindly
crews
With tears we left upon the
bloomless shores
Where birds nor flowers should
ever bless his grave.
On—on—beyond
all shores—or sights of dwarfs
Slaying the rein-deer by their
snow-built huts:—
On, through the thickening
perils of the way!
Methought I held within my
brain the clue
Through that bewildering labyrinth
of ice.
For weeks the Sun, a pale
and sinking ghost,
With feeble eyes had glared
upon the Pole.
Nor with his wavering arrows
could o’erthrow
Even the airy domes of delicate
sprites,
Sitting and decking their
etherial robes
And turning them, sparkling,
to his sullen face.
“Now from OENE’s
dominions, messengers,
Borne by the flying winds,
hourly arrived,
Warning me from her shores.
At last the Queen,
Gathered together her enormous
fleet;
It bore down upon us with
such grand array
As I pray heaven never to
see again.
An hundred giant ships, whose
rainbow sails
And glittering masts towered
“I, as the leader of
the intruding band,
Am doomed to wander on this
mountain side,
A century, before my restless
ghost,
Freed from the thraldom of
weird OENE’s power,
Regains its natural liberty,
and soars
Into the paradise of happy
souls.
This is the punishment those
mortals bear,
Who, venturing into this strange
Arctic world,
Are vanquished by its sovereign.
She hath power,
The source of which I know
not, to retain
The souls of mortals for an
hundred years,
Demanding service which they
needs must pay.
The gloomy caverns underneath
this mount,
And those which in the hearts
of icebergs lie,
And many by the sea, are filled
with those
Who work their ransom out
with tedious toil.
For me—I am not
put to any task—
My punishment to gaze afar
and see
How cruelly all friends from
distant shores,
Who dare attempt my rescue,
are restrained.
Alas; the North-west Passage!
When the day
Glinted o’er this pale
land, before my sight
In devious tracery that Passage
lay;
Mocking me with its undeveloped
truth,
Wealth unappropriated, glory
lost!
Cruel is she who took from
me that substance
“Art thou indeed a spirit?”
Olive asked,
Shrinking a step aside.
Then her kind heart
O’ercome the transient
awe, and stealing close,
While smiling on him with
sweet, wondering eyes,
Began again:—“But
art thou truly he
Whose name is on the lip of
the great world?—
Of whom the wives and mothers,
tearful, speak
When sound the Northern wind-harps?—whose
grand fate,
Hath power to touch, not only
hearts of men,
But draw the golden drops
from weeping purses?
Oh! be content! if Fame and
Love content thee.
For thee, the hearts of mariners
beat loud—
For thee, ships chase the
pathways of the sea—
By thee the souls of nations,
like one chord
Are smote upon, and ring out
sympathy;
And men talk on the streets,
and by their hearths,
Of him who led to dismal,
distant shores
The Crusade of the Nineteenth
Century.
In that new world, where generous
hearts are found
To flourish on the air of
liberty,
A noble merchant fitted out
a ship;
And others joined him in his
kindly plan,
So deep the interest taken
in thy fate.
And oh, for thee, thou princely-fortuned
man,
A pale face from a northern
window looks,
Forever looks, with constancy
sublime.
At night, when spectral tints
are in the North—
By day, when winds blow down
from that bleak source—
That face peers from the window
anxiously,
As if the elements might come
from thee
Bearing some message to her
pining heart.”
As breaks the sunlight from
a snow-filled cloud,
Smiles struggled through the
list’ner’s wintry looks.
“As land-bird with a
green twig in its beak
Is welcome to the homesick
ship which long
Hath tossed in foreign waters,
so art thou
Welcome to me, with this consoling
tale.
I am content. Weird OENE,
keep me here!
And I will while away a century
In dreaming of a love which
hath not failed;
Now knowing that the first
to welcome me
In Heaven’s ineffable
bowers, will be my wife.”
“Since thou, Sir John,
protected me from harm,
What I have said may be some
small return.
I do dislike to leave thee
here, so lonely;
But since I for my BERTHO
went in search,
Nought stays my footsteps
long. Where’er I go,
Whether I be successful in
my search,
Or perish by the way, I trust
again
We shall in spirit, if not
in body, meet.
I have seen this witching
Pole-Queen; I have passed
This circling cold and stood
in the warm heart
Of her domains—have
pressed her magic isle
With my poor human feet, and
with my voice
Have plead the cause of two
young, eager souls.
She was not kind, and yet
not very cruel,
She may relent, even of her
hate towards thee.
If I again have access to
her ear,
I’ll not forget to plead
thy cause, dear sir,
As if it were mine own.
Farewell!”
“Farewell,
And heaven bless thine innocence,
sweet friend.”
With parting gesture full of tender grace
And soft regret, she passed upon her way.
A weary time it grew till on the summit
Of Thug she stood, gazing bewildered round.
No more she heard her lover’s haunting call;
But she herself cried out with aching voice,
Whose sweetness dropped with every silver tone
From the full note of hope to doubt and fear.
Sudden a chill fell on her,
and a shadow;
Her breath congealed, and
on those rosy lips
The white rime gathered.
From behind a rock,
Which crowned the mountain,
there advanced to view
WOLE, that old warrior who
before OENE
Rumbled his boastful story.
In his hand
He poised his massive spear
in act to throw;
Yet, seeing there, chilled
in her loveliness,
(Like some young rose-bud
nipped by spring-time frost,)
The maiden whom his Queen
herself did spare,
The frown rolled from his
forehead as a cloud
Rolls from a rugged crag.
The spear remained
Moveless in air, while through
his frosty glance
Melted a softness never known
before.
The life so nearly frozen
in her veins
Flew back and thrilled her
heart, as on her knees
She dropped, and lifting up
her pleading hands
Crying—“Slay
me, at once, great WOLE, slay me!
With those keen looks, or
tell me of my lover!
If this great mountain rested
on my breast
It could not crush me worse
than this suspense,
Kill me or free me from it!
What, to thee—
Thou greatest warrior of this
shadowy land,
Whose conquests like the snows
upon this mount
Lie white and venerable on
thy fame,
Unsoiled by one defeat—what
is to thee,
One prisoner, if she who loves
him well,
Comes kneeling at thy feet,
to ask him back?
Thou’lt give him her,
I know, since to achieve
Renown like thine there must
be generous heart.”
“Look!” cried
the warrior and outstretched his spear—
“’Tis not auspicious
hour for such a plea.”
Following the motion of his
hand she saw
From the horizon phantom suns
and moons
Shoot swiftly, or along the
red edge roll.
Dim on the distant verge of
ghostly shores
Pale fleets of paler shades,
and flying hosts
Of spectral horsemen on their
vanishing steeds,
Fled either way before the
coming morn;
While fairies that, on snow-flakes,
sailed about
Down through the valleys darted
out of sight;
And meteors, coursing higher
in the sky,
Exploded in their wrath, dropping
down dead
The fiery ghouls who rode
their shining wings.
Sudden, while Olive gazed,
she thought a flame
Sprang from her feet, when
looking, startled, down,
She saw the glory of the rising
sun
Touching the pinnacle of sparkling
ice
On which she stood. Silent
and rapt she gazed
While thousand golden flames
on thousand spires
Were low and lower lit; and
here and there
Some broad plain glimmered
into sudden white—
And frozen cataracts which,
in daring leaps
Midway between vast depths
were holden tight,
Gleamed out like streams of
gold:—Thus, one by one,
The wonders of that soulless
land appeared,
While grey and ghast, behind
the sparkling towers
Of gorgeous Thug, the ancient
Night stooped down.
WOLE gnashed his teeth and
turned again to smite
The helpless girl who pleaded;
but the light
Which angered him had beautified
her so,
That his cold breath grew
moist upon his beard.
The sunlight melting in her
eyes and flushing
Her cheeks with rosy redness,
crowned her hair
With lustrous splendor, and
about her form
Fell like a robe of glory,
warm and soft.
“Mortal!” he cried,
while in the agony
’Twixt admiration and
inherent hate,
The sullen throbbing of his
heart was seen
Thrilling his moistened beard—“Pass
from my sight!
Thou makest old Thug’s
warrior drop his spear,
And should that fair face
beam on me eternal,
Eternal I would swear the
sun was good
And OENE was no Queen.
Yet I would rather,
Crush thee beneath my feet,
than be this traitor.”
He would have thrust her rudely
from his path.
But she arose from off her
bended knee,
Turning her fair face from
him, so her hair
Hid its too touching beauty
from his sight;
Clasping her suppliant hands
upon her bosom
She spoke out wildly, as one
weary waiting
For long-expected good;—
“Oh,
cruel WOLE!
Where is my BERTHO in this
mountain hidden?—
Shaping fantastic dreams of
heartless OENE,
With aching hands into a tangible
beauty.
How can’st thou keep
two yearning souls apart?
If thou could’st
feel what love is, mighty master
Of loveless War, then thou
would’st pity me!”
“Thou shalt behold thy
lover, southern girl,”
Was WOLE’s reply, and
reaching round the rock
Took up a horn shorn from
some monster’s head
And blew in it a blast meant
to be angry:
Yet strangely pining from
the curves it came,
And went down wailing through
the pallid sunlight,
For it was born of the tumultuous
sigh
Stirred in his bosom by the
lovely stranger.
Soon the sound smote against
a pinnacle
Which someway down the mountain
had just caught
The radiance of the morning,
and now stood
A ruby palace on a crystal
base,
With emrald towers and columns
sapphire-hued:
While at the summons, swift
was lifted up
A shining net-work from behind
the columns,
And out there flew two fair,
unearthly sprites,
With wings like birds of Paradise,
and bodies
Of shape uncertain; for so
swiftly shifted
Their rainbow hues amid enwreathing
mists,
That Olive likened them
to those vagaries
Born to the eyes that gaze
upon the spray
Of cataracts dashing in the
sun. Their flying
Made music like the flowing
on of streams,
They came and hovered in the
air before her,
While she regarded them with
timid looks
Of fear and pleasure, seeing
not their features,
But floating hair of gold,
and beamy brightness
As of white foreheads and
blue, humid eyes.
Next moment she was lifted
from the earth,
Encircled, as it were, by
many rainbows,
And rushing, bird-like, through
the airy space:
While a monotonous, soft and
sleepy humming
Rose all around and filled
her drowsy ears.
Brief time it was, ’till,
with bewildered eyes,
She saw her fairies vanish
in a mist,
Floating away in music, while
she stood
Alone, far down the mountain
opposite
The side that with such toil
she just had climbed.
She stood alone—and
where? the roses shrank
From her wan cheeks to view
her new distress,—
Before her a dark chasm, and
above her
A crowd of close and overhanging
rocks,
All dripping, black, and hopelessly
down-leant.
A glimmering hope now broke
upon her sense—
Seeing an arch, and, far beyond,
the gleam
Of lights that from some cavern
stole away.
Under the arch she passed
and found herself
Walking an ever-widening vista
down,
Fading from twilight to auroral
glows
And brightening into more
than noon-day breadth
And gorgeousness of light,
until she paused
Beneath the grand arch of
that grand succession,
Standing amazed, one slender
hand upheld
Shading her eyes, half blinded
by that view
Of Arctic-Nature and of Arctic-Art.
In limitless magnificence
the cave
Before her spread, a world
within a world.
She entered in, like Eve in
Paradise
Searching for Adam; and yet,
oft beguiled
From the great love-thought,
by the sights she saw.
If she glanced upward to the
sparkling dome,
The lamps, swinging like suns
as far above,
Shone down upon her beautiful
young face,
Smiling to see them dwarfed
within her eyes.
The crystal floor doubled
her bashful feet;
She saw no walls; but the
refulgent space
Was here and there disturbed
by artful groups.
Once, by a fountain passing,
dulcet murmurs,
Wooed her aside to listen;
and, again,
Temples, which mimicked the
frost’s fairy work,
Burning with gems, attracted
her to gaze.
Music, from hidden sources,
beat the air
With wings of melody that
flew abroad
Beyond th’ enchanted
sense, and darting back
Swept with a sweet vibration
near her face.
Thrice o’er her brow
she drew her languid hand,
That, if it were a dream,
she might dispel
The gay enchantment; and thrice
murmured o’er
The spells learned of her
nurse in infancy,
Which would all witchcraft
render innocent;
But that great cavern of the
northern world
Was not by nurse’s spells
to be dissolved,
Growing more wond’rous,
as she wondered more.
Now, ’neath her feet,
the floor less polished grew,
And fountains dashed from
the unsculptured rock;
She saw half-finished grottoes,
fewer lights,
And heard a discord in the
melody
As if of hammers and the shouts
of workmen;
Meanwhile her heart loudly
began to beat.
“BERTHO! I have
come, BERTHO!” she cried out,
As the next moment, ’mid
a swarthy group
Of dusky laborers, a familiar
form
Raised itself from a shaft
of phorphyry,
And turned itself to hear
that throbbing heart.
A light too glad for smiles
came o’er the face,
The shadowy face, uplifted
from its toil,
And, “Olive!”
echoed back her eager cry.
The fairest sight that cavern
ever saw
Was that young girl holding
her glowing arms
To clasp her love; her sweet
mouth all a-tremble,
Her dark eyes flashing joy
and tender tears,
Her bosom fluttering in its
snowy folds
With sudden pleasure;—but,
what clasped she?
A shadow! Pale and silent
she shrank back;
Her lover folded up his hopeless
arms;
His face a melancholy so profound
put on
That Olive to his side
again drew near.
“Is this one mystery
of this mystic world—
This world of phantoms?”
sighed the stricken girl.
“Oh! why did hope keep
life within my breast,
And passion thrill me with
strange fortitude?
Why did I save the kisses
of my lips
For him who nevermore can
give them back?
Why did I smile to think my
arms were soft
Her
wild, distrustful words
Here ended, as she saw the
bitterness
Which stormed across the spirit’s
anguished face:—
“Forbear, poor child!
thy pitiful complaints!
When through these long years
of distasteful toil
I thought of thee, unceasing,
day and night,
Calling on heaven to bend
thy steps towards me,
I thought not that this spirit,
weary, worn,
And from the covering of its
body torn,
Its feeling could retain and
substance lose.
Fool that I was! to sigh for
human love!
Why art thou here to madden
me with looks,—
Those womanly, caressing looks
which fill
My soul with wild desires!
Back, to thy home,
In that gold-girdled circle
of daylight,
That island of elysian loveliness,
Where thou and I did’st
one time idly dream!
There breathe the passionate
breath of orange-flowers—
Walk in the sunlight till
thy brows are flushed
With its warm kisses—plunge
thy snowy feet
In the embracing waves and
silver sand—
Shake down magnolia-blossoms
on thy hair—
Answer the nightingales’
delicious song
With thy sweet cries—and,
on bright eves, look up
And charm the moon upon her
lingering way
With that soft fire of thine
entrancing eyes!
Thou wilt not for regret or
tears find time.
Some lover, clothed in human
dignity
And tangible robes of life,
will haunt thy steps,
Drawing up, with magnetic
looks, the smiles
Which lie deep down in thy
now tearful orbs;
And, wiling from their blissful
hiding-place,
The bashful dimples to thy
blushing cheeks,
And,—it may be—with
human eloquence,
Beguile thy hand to rest within
his own,
Sitting, as we have sat,—thy
glossy hair
Rippling in golden waves across
his breast.”
“Can he be mad as well
as dead?” the girl
Murmured aside! and then her
sorrowing brow
She lifted proudly, while
a sudden fire
Sprang to her lips and eyes—her
trembling voice
Steadied itself on her unfaltering
love.—
“Forgive me, BERTHO,
that my woman’s heart,
Finding thee thus, should,
for an instant, only,
Shrink back from thee in awe
and deep regret.
My love, which has endured
so much, grows strong
Tumultuous music filled the
spacious cave.
OENE was coming with her virgin
train,
Impatient to behold what further
charms,
Her prisoned laborers at their
tasks had wrought.
Blowing on quaintly curved
and curious shells
Which made a sea-like music—mingled
up
Of sweet, unsyllabled sounds,
and long-drawn sighs,
Heavy with memories of coral
reefs,
Murmuring shores, caverns,
and surging deeps—
There flew, midway between
the roof and floor,
A band of sprites which lived
in air or sea;
With eyes like twinkling stars,
and winged feet,
And sparkling fins down either
shoulder-blade,
And cheeks puffed out and
flushing with their toil.
Announced by these, the courtly
train approached
The spot where BERTHO and
his Olive stood,
Close by an emrald rock, within
whose breast
A living spring slept like
a smiling child.
Around the brim BERTHO had
sculptured moss
And rare similitudes of southern
flowers;
Shaped violets from sapphires,
and from stalks,
Hung ruby roses, bright, but
without soul,
As perfumeless as was that
frigid land.
OENE, resplendent as a wintry
moon,
Bent her proud eyes upon the
waiting pair:—
“So! thou hast found
thy lover, southern maid?
Are, then, these sunbeams
which flow from thy head,
Pinions as well as tresses
bearing thee
Across the perilous chasm
which guards our cave?”
“Yes! I have found my lover, noble OENE;
And I am happy working by his side.
See! this sweet spring which we have brimmed with flowers—
A mirror for thy beautiful face, O Queen!
In adding my slight labor to his own,
In hopes that thou would’st never banish me,
But leave me by his side to aid his work,
I’ve found a consolation very sweet,
And have been happy.”
“But
I have not been!”
Spoke BERTHO with a moody
passionateness,
“And never can be till
I am restored
To the full use of all my
natural powers.
Happy! when hearing this young
creature’s laugh—
Seeing the dimples, begging
for a kiss,
Peep from her cheeks, and
hide themselves again—
Feeling her soft breath warming
o’er my brow—
Yet be this bodiless ghost
of what I was!
O, Queen! wilt thou not give
me back that shape—
Which thou dids’t cruelly
bereave me of—
That I, again, may feel my
bounding heart
Throbbing against the bosom
of my bride?
Then thou shalt find what
grateful souls can do.
For I will court invention,
study art,
To decorate this favorite
cave anew;
And she I love will serve
thee patiently
Unnumbered years, till we
our freedom earn.”
The sternness of his tone had melted down
To liquid sweetness, and his fiery eyes
Grown humid, as he fixed them on the Queen
In soft entreaty.
From
her lofty brow,
So pale and passive, had the
shadow rolled,
As slightly and unconsciously
she bent
To his quick utterance.
A sudden ray
Stole from the twilight of
her deepening eyes,
And a warm redness into either
cheek,
Troubling its cold repose,
shot quickly up.
A moment of suspense, and
then she spoke:
“’Tis true that I thy body might restore,
Since but suspension of its human powers,
And not its loss or injury, I control.
But what assurance have I that this boon
May not prove dangerous? Mortals have what we,
With all our vast machinery and weird powers
Moving the earth, the sea and air, have not—
And that is—soul. A soul and body, too,
Might circumvent us—work us desperate harm;—
At least ’tis wise to fear the things unknown,
And to be chary how we give them scope.
As long as thy body’s powers restrain,
Thy spirit to my will in bondage is;
Thou hast no wherewithal to make ado—
No weapon at thy service—art a slave,—
And shall I give to thee a master’s place?
Yet, thou hast wakened in me a new thought.
What is this love of which you mortals tell?—
Which puts such tender sweetness in your tones
Such brightness in your looks, and makes you turn
Upon each other such delighted eyes?
Your words have stirred strange pleasure in myPage 24
heart:
I, too, would know what love is. I command
That thou shalt teach me, BERTHO. Let the girl
Return, uninjured, to her southern bowers;
Whilst thou remain to teach me this new lore.
Perchance, in finding Love, I’ll gain a soul,
And learn of immortality; and all
The vague, sad intuitions that now mock me,
Make real, and I become what I have dreamed.
Make these things come to pass, and thou shalt have,
Thy body and thy freedom, and a place,
The highest of my chieftains. Follow me!”
These ominous words of the
enamored Queen,
Spoken as though she knew
not what it was
That one should think of disobedience,
Poor Olive heard, with
looks of agony
Fixed on the speaker’s
face—that Northern face,
Wild in its power and in its
beauty weird.
The starry halo of that tintless
crown,
The midnight blackness of
her plentiful hair,
Set off the splendor of the
countenance
On which the maiden bent her
pale regard.
A jealous terror urged her
on to say—
“Love is not taught,
Queen OENE; ’tis a gift
Mysterious as life, and more
divine;
The congregated glories of
this cave,
With all its jewelled lamps
and sparkling roof
Could never purchase one of
its small joys.
Love, in exchange, takes nothing
but itself,
Power cannot claim it—fear
cannot command—
It is a tribute Queens cannot
exact.
The humblest peasant, singing
in her hut,
Is often richer than the proudest
princess:
It is the gift God left the
human race
To keep them from despair,
when sin and shame,
Pain, poverty, and death,
and madness came
Among the people. When
a youthful pair,
Look in each other’s
eyes and say—“We love”—
The common earth grows to
a heavenly world.
Singing of birds, shining
of summer suns,
Blooming of flowers and brightness
of the moon,
Have a new charm to their
elated sense;
They hear the music of the
Universe,
Walking, with light feet,
to the harmony;
Careless of care and disbelieving
pain,
Grateful for life—and
all, because they love.
Thus have we said those
irrecallable words—
Solemnly smiling in each other’s
eyes—
BERTHO and I—and
never to unsay!
Therefore, sweet Queen, command
him not, I pray,
To an impossible thing, which
needs compel
Rebellion to the will which
he respects.
I am a princess, yet will
not refuse,
The humblest service which
thy pride requires,
If I from BERTHO am not forced
to part.”
Imperious OENE turned her
scornful eyes
Quickly to BERTHO’s,
as in inquiry;
While he, gathering resolve
from OLIVE’s face
Of love and anguish, answered
the mute look:
“I cannot teach thee
love, since it is learned
Only when one heart from another
takes
The sweet contagion; but,
my bride and I
May humbly teach thee other
human lore.
Thou say’st thou hast
no soul. This cannot be,
Since reason and all mental
gifts are thine;
Within the lovely calyx sleeps
the germ,—
A flower as yet unblossomed.
Warmth and light
From the great spiritual Sun
alone it wants
To bud and bloom into the
fullest life.
Shall we expound this marvellous
mystery?—
Tell thee of Endless Life
which still unfolds
Till it doth circle every
star in heaven?—
And light within thy spotless
bosom’s shrine
The silvery flame of Christ’s
unwavering love—
A love which we, indeed, would
gladly teach,
The parent of all other, whose
pure fire
Doth hallow and exalt our
earthly hopes.
We’ll learn those peerless
lips to syllable, god!—
A word that thrills the Universe
with awe!
Thou shalt no more a lovely
heathen be,
But a sweet Woman, and a child
of Heaven.”
A slow, soft light, into the
wondering eyes
Intently fixed upon the speaker,
came—
A deeper glow than from their
slumberous blue
Had ever startled; as she
slightly bent,
With earnest air, her crowned,
resplendent head.
“Speak on!” she
bade, “my thirsty heart is held
To catch your words, as lillies
catch the dew—
So eager that it fain would
overbrim
With the fresh gathering.
It has waited long;
And now, it shall be filled
to bright excess.
Speak on! I am impatient.
But, first say
That I shall then be worthier
of love,—
When I have mastered all these
subtle things
That thou wilt love me better
than this girl.
I’ll have thee for my
teacher—thee alone;
She shall return to her gay,
foreign home,
Laded with many a costly gift
from me;
I’ll bid my warriors
wait upon her steps,—
My North-Lights shall illuminate
her way,
No frost shall nip the redness
of her cheeks,
And no rude wind shall bluster
round her feet.”
“The frost of fear already
nips her cheeks
At thought of living separate
from me;
At the mere word she droops,
a blighted flower.
Nay, gracious Queen? accept
of both our hearts,
And our united service,”
BERTHO plead.
Down on her knees sank Olive,
bending low
Her suppliant head, murmuring
“Accept our hearts;”—
But the same beauty which
had conquered WOLE
Angered the jealous Queen;
she could not brook
The glistening of those unbound
locks of gold;
A pain, before unknown, stung
her proud heart;
While the fierce consciousness
of absolute power
Urged her to tyrannous deeds.
She waved her hand,
And while her maidens shrank
Poor Olive, the forlornest
captive bird
That ever beat its heart out
in a cage,
Fluttered the pinions of her
restless will
In vain against her dungeon.
What cared she
That this same dungeon had
an emrald floor
And lattice-work of gold,
or that the spring
Which closed the door, was
on a jewel hinged?
The lustre of the cave flowed
through her cell,
And she could strain her weary
eyes to catch
Glimpses of splendor, which
but mocked her state.
The tiresome days rolled round,
never relieved
By the refreshing shadows
of the night;
Until the lamps so often counted
o’er,
Seemed burning in her brain;
and she had fears
That madness lurked within
her feverish veins.
The ghouls who chanced to
pass her, never spake;
At last, with joy, the stranger
of the mount
She saw approaching:
“Ah!
Sir John,” she cried—
Her pale face, peering through
the lattice-work—
“Thou find’st
me in a miserable plight—
A closer prisoner by far than
thou.”
“Why, thou bright bird,
has OENE caged thee here—
Prisoned an oriole in her
Arctic bowers?
’Tis well we meet.
As I was solacing
My banishment, by wandering
here and there,
Greeting old Thug by the day’s
sickly smile,
I chanced within this cavern,
where surprise
And pleasure lured me on from
scene to scene.
What tyrant holds thee in
this glittering cell?”
“From OENE’s anger
I am suffering,—
Yes, dear sir John, from
more than angry hate—
From that implacable passion,
worst of all,
And cruelest of purpose, jealousy.
I’d trust the tenderness
of hungry wolves,
The beauty of the cobra, or
the talk
Of waters to the rocks—but
not the will
Of woman, when to jealous
thoughts aroused.
She binds me here and bears
my love away,
To tempt him with a thousand
sweetest wiles—
With beauty, wealth, ambition,
vanity,
And all that easiest moves
a man’s proud heart.
How shall I know if BERTHO—even
he—
Has truth or virtue beyond
this rich price?
Or, she may torture him,—by
pain compel
Consent to her soft wish and
queenly will.
Alas, Sir John, I am
very miserable!”
“Shall I not play the
messenger, and urge
Thy cause before her, if,
by inquiry,
I find the Queen still visiting
old Thug?”
“Oh, if thou would’st
and yet—what should I gain?
Nothing, nothing!—still,
I should hear from him—
Should know the worst.
I’ll pray for thy success,
And thank thee from my heart,
if thou wilt go!”
Long time Sir John, misled
by wicked sprites,
Searched for the Queen! until,
by some kind chance,
He wandered through a grotto
by the sea,
Where silver pendules from
the ceiling hung
And gossip ripples whispered
at the door.
Here, on a seat from solid
crystal hewn
Sat OENE,—BERTHO
at her feet,—her hand
Nestled amid the ringlets
of his hair,
Like some white dove amid
the wav’ring shade;
Her eyes bent softly on his
countenance;
The crimson of his fiery southern
blood
Burned through the brown of
his defiant cheek;
His eyes were downcast, that
their sullen fire
Should not too much betray
him, as he lay,
A half-tamed lion at his mistress’
feet,
Restless, yet yielding to
the golden chain.
In a low voice, which, like
a pent-up stream,
Chafed at its boundaries,
he made reply
To her incessant questions
of the world,
Of human life and love, of
death, and heaven.
When bold Sir John intruded
on the scene
OENE resumed her native haughtiness.
“I’ve come to
plead the cause of a sweet child,
Who, like a wild-bird newly
caught and caged,
Within her cell is fretting.
Noble Queen,
I’m not an eloquent
nor fair young man,
To please a gentle fancy;
but my tongue
And mind shall do thy bidding,
should there be
Aught which my humble wisdom
could expound.
The meanwhile he who now instructs
thee, hastes
To ope the prison door and
let the bird
Flutter to her true home within
his breast.”
Scarce were these words with
a firm purpose said,
When all the scene was changed.
Where erst a Queen,
In shape most loveable, did
blushing sit,
A terrible and yet a glorious
form
Rose in portentious wrath;
her star-crowned head
Paled the chaste lustre of
the silvery dome.
It was no shame to him that
BERTHO fled,
Dismayed, before the anger
of her eyes,
For they were awful.
Parted from Sir John,
And flying through a dark,
unknown ravine,
He lost himself in tangled
labyrinths:
Stumbling o’er rocks—only
by daring leaps
Saving himself from dropping
into chasms
Which opened suddenly across
his path.
From tortuous windings underneath
the ground,
At length released, he thenceforth
knew the way,
And sped across the mountain
to the cave
Where Olive pined, weeping
despairing tears.
Like a swift arrow through
the sunlight shot
He passed athwart its glory,
till he reached
Her prison—heard
her sudden cry of joy—
Touched the elaborate spring
which bound her in,
And freed her, while she gazed
in mute surprise.
“Love! look not thus
incredulous of hope!
This temple was thy lover’s
handiwork—
This curious spring he wrought,—and
what he did
He can undo. My sweetest!
it is I:—
Thy living, breathing BERTHO
stands before thee!
This happiness, at least,
I owe the Queen,
Who, since repentant, may
her gift resume,
Should Heaven not grant us
now a quick escape.
But once—this once—though
death should press me next—
Come to my arms—to
thy dear bosom draw me,
So fondly close!—and
feed my famished lips
With kisses worth a life of
wo to gain!
Nay, pause not to inquire—’tis
better thus
To feel the throbbing of thy
timid heart,
Than to waste breath in words.—
“How
did it come?
I know not: I was tranced
in sleep profound,
And when I woke I was my former
self.
Queen OENE hoped my gratitude
would grow
To love, in time; and I was
grateful—would
Have given her everything
but what was thine,
And that alone she coveted.
Come, sweet!
Fly from this land forlorn:—if
miracles
Are still in fashion, one
might serve us well.
Cling to my guiding hand;
trust all to me;
My soul is so elate I would
not flinch
From meeting every imp of
this dark land—
The touch of thy soft hand
is such a triumph!”
Even while his accents lingered,
they were gone
By an obscure and solitary
path,
Until they came upon some
rough-hewn steps,
Which wandered round and down,
interminable.—
A stairway leading to the
upper world
For the ascent of gnomes,
who dwelt beneath
In those huge tidal caves
which underlaid
Old Thug, upheaved from earth
in ancient times.
Silent the lovers fled; their
locks grew wet
With mildew, and their breath
came gaspingly.
A sound of gibbering gnomes,
of elfish song—
Mingling high discords with
the patient clink
Of instruments of toil—of
laughter strange—
Warned them of the wild laborers
they must meet.
A moment more, and the pale
fugitives
Stood at the bottom of those
countless steps,
Peering into the lowest deep
of all.
A hell-like spot! and spirits
of the doomed
Were scarce more haggard than
the clumsy elves
Who here pursued their coarse
and perilous toil.
’Tis in these horrible
caverns, deep and wide,
Each day the ocean sinks,
when, rushing round
With the swift world, he falls
into this snare;
From whence with groans, and
anger impotent,
He backward struggles to his
bed of sand
And lies there panting; while
the credulous earth,
Dreaming of love, looks on
him with a smile,
Saying—“He
pineth for the sweet-faced Moon;”—
Thus had he just receded,
when the pair
“Art thou afraid, my
darling?” BERTHO asked—
“I’ll bear thee
safely through this hideous place.
Here Lucifer, I think,
must love to linger;
The shrieking of the ocean
hath a sound
Like the united wail of hopeless
souls;
Here darkness dwells in everlasting
sleep;
For these poor, puny lights
which wander round,
Scarce make the drowsy lashes
of his lids
Tremble o’er his blind
eyes;—the heated earth
Gives forth the odors of her
burning heart,
In whose incessant fires her
vitals wither.
See! where those wretched
gnomes are dragging chests,
Banded with iron! most like,
is heaped within
The ingots of some drowned
West-Indian:
And look! ah heaven! how beautiful
and strange,
To see the delicate corpse
of this young girl
Like marble petrified, the
raven hair
Grown rankly long, trailing
around her limbs,
And clinging to her lovely,
breathless breast!—
That rude dwarf clutching
from her helpless hands
The jewels which some friend
or lover gave.
If we had time to give our
fancies range,
What a wild story we would
make of this!”
Thrilling with pity, Olive
hid her eyes.
Twelve hours of desperate
flight, and they emerged
From darkness to a dead shore,
shrouded white,—
Saw the green ocean rolling,
saw the Sun,
Pale, like a wounded God,
and weary, hang
Low in the southern sky—saw
mountains crowned
With snow and fire—saw
motionless cataracts
Hanging like frozen rainbows
over chasms—
And icebergs settling downward
towards the sun
As if to pierce him with their
glist’ning spears.
Remotely, to the North, the
Polar Sea
Hung like a roseate cloud
along the sky
Fringing with lovely tints
the dim horizon,
Holding unseen its island
star within.
“A miracle!” quoth
BERTHO; “Love, observe
How all these waves set from
the shore, and glide
Like a broad river, ’twixt
these frozen banks.
The current which ran northward
with thy boat,
Has overtopped the Pole, and
flows away,
A liquid belt, girdling the
earth. Alas!
We have no trusty boat in
which to launch,
Once more, our fortunes on
the promising deep.”
Wearied, they flung themselves
upon the shore,
And, hand in hand, sat gazing
on the sea
With home-sick longing.
WOLE, the eager-eyed,
From his far height espied
them where they sat,
And sent four of his people
to their aid
(Such power hath youth and
beauty through the world!)
Bearing a skiff, contrived
of ribs of whales,
For frame work,—these,
inwove with fibrous moss,
And lined with furs of savage
Arctic beasts
Which he had slain. When,
with this welcome gift
The slaves appeared, and bowed
at OLIVE’s feet,
The tears sprang to her eyes;
her heart was touched
By this rude warrior’s
magnanimity.
They put to sea. Scarce
were they free from land,
When, o’er the plain
they saw OENE advance,
Alone and melancholy, to the
shore.
Her anger was subdued by greater
grief;
While something new and holier
than sorrow
Restrained revenge. It
was the Love Divine
Which sacrifices self to others’
good.
Some word, Sir John had
uttered when her wrath
Would have consumed him, fell
upon her heart
Like rain on a thirsty garden—there
sprang up
The amaranthine flower of
charity
Whose seed was dropped from
heaven; the nameless pain,
The want, which she had ever
felt, was gone;
She knew the immortal meaning
of the Soul,
And blessed the speaker for
the ‘perfect work.’
Speedily from her sight they
floated out;
But, long time, while gazing,
they saw her stand
In desolate beauty, silent
on the beach.
The plaintive music of a horn
wound down
From WOLE’s grey fortress;
all the fading scene
Lay, like a sad thought in
a musing breast
Called up by the enchantment
of sweet sound—
A thought, no more—all,—save
those lustrous eyes
Shining upon them like two
troubled stars—
Vaguely receding into things
that were:
While, high and low, in whispering
melodies
Borne by the uncertain winds,
a farewell came:—
Oh, when for love
we pine
We
sleep in bloomless bowers;
But Life is a
thing divine
When
the love we crave is ours.
Shut close your
feathery wings
Ye
silvery birds of snow—
Across the ocean’s
rippled rings
Let
no wild tempest blow;
From valleys bleak
and caverns hollow
Let no rude spirit
dare to follow.
Oh, who hath drunk
of love
Will
drink forevermore;
While ever, the
golden rim above,
The
draught will bubble o’er.
Let no fierce
storm assail
These
lovers in their flight,
But only a soft
and steady gale
Pursue
them day and night;
Nor jutting rock
nor whirlpool hollow
Can seize them
while our wishes follow.
Oh, love is a
singing bird
That
flutters everywhere;
His music in our
souls is heard,
Charming
us unaware.
Over the restless
sea
The
while these lovers glide,
This bird will
pour his music free
And
soothe the sleepless tide:—
While tempests
crouch in caverns hollow
Let this sweet
bird the lovers follow.