The nuptials of Attila

     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 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 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 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 would 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!

     V

     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!