Old Spookses' Pass, Malcolm's Katie, and other poems Part 20

His spear grew heavy on his breast, Dropp'd, like a star his golden crest; Far, far the vast Halls of the Blest!

His heart grown faint, his feet grown weak, He scal'd the knit mists of a peak, That ever parted grey and bleak.

And, as by unseen talons nipp'd, To deep Abysses slowly slipp'd; Then, swift as thick smoke strongly ripp'd.

By whirling winds from ashy ring, Of dank weeds blackly smoldering, The peak sprang upward a quivering

And perdurable, set its face Against the pulsing breast of s.p.a.ce But for a moment to its base.

Refluent roll'd the crest new sprung, In clouds with ghastly lightnings stung,-- Faint thunders to their black feet clung.

His faithful hound ran at his heel-- His thighs and breast were bright with steel-- He saw the awful h.e.l.lway reel.

But far along its bleak peaks rang A distant trump--its airy clang Like light through deathly shadows sprang.

He knew the blast--the voice of love!

Cleft lay the throbbing peak above Sail'd light, wing'd like a silver dove.

On strove the toiling ghost, his soul Stirr'd like strong mead in wa.s.sail bowl, That quivers to the shout of "Skoal!"

Strode from the mist close-curv'd and cold As is a writhing dragon's fold; A warrior with shield of gold.

A sharp blade glitter'd at his hip, Flamed like a star his lance's tip; His bugle sang at bearded lip.

Beneath his golden sandels flew Stars from the mist as gra.s.s flings dew; Or red fruit falls from the dark yew.

As under shelt'ring wreaths of snow The dark blue north flowers richly blow-- Beneath long locks of silver glow.

Clear eyes, that burning on a host Would win a field at sunset lost, Ere stars from Odin's hand were toss'd.

He stretch'd his hand, he bowed his head: The wan ghost to his bosom sped-- Dead kiss'd the bearded lips of Dead!

"What dost thou here, my youngest born?

"Thou--scarce yet fronted with life's storm-- "Why art thou from the dark earth torn?

"When high Valhalla puls'd and rang "With harps that shook as grey bards sang-- "'Mid the loud joy I heard the clang.

"Of Death's dark doors--to me alone "Smote in thy awful dying groan-- "My soul recall'd its blood and bone.

"Viewless the cord which draws from far "To the round sun some mighty star; "Viewless the strong-knit soul-cords are!

"I felt thy dying gasp--thy soul "Towards mine a kindred wave in roll, "I left the harps--I left the bowl.

"I sought the h.e.l.lway--I--the blest; "That thou, new death-born son should rest "Upon the strong rock of my breast.

"What dost thou here, young, fair and bold?

"Sleek with youth's gloss thy locks of gold; "Thy years by flow'rs might yet be told!

"What dost thou at the ghostly goal, "While yet thy years were to thy soul, "As mead yet shallow in the bowl?"

His arm about the pale ghost cast, The warrior blew a clear, loud blast; Like frighten'd wolves the mists fled past.

Grew firm the way; worlds flame to light The awful peak that thrusts its height, With swift throbs upward, like a flight.

Of arrows from a host close set Long meteors pierc'd its breast of jet-- Again the trump his strong lips met--

And at its blast blew all the day, In broad winds on the awful Way; Sun smote at Sun across the grey;

As reindeer smite the high-pil'd snow To find the green moss far below-- They struck the mists thro' which did glow

Bright vales--and on a sea afar, Lay at a sunlit harbour bar, A galley gold-sail'd like a star!

Spake the pale ghost as onward sped Heart-press'd to heart the valiant dead; Soft the green paths beneath their tread.

"I lov'd, this is my tale, and died-- The fierce chief hunger'd for my bride-- The spear of Gisli pierc'd my side!

"And she--her love fill'd all my need-- Her vows were sweet and strong as mead; Look, father--doth my heart still bleed?

"I built her round with shaft and spear, I kept her mine for one brief year-- She laugh'd above my blood stain'd bier!

"Upon a far and ice-peak'd coast My galleys by long winds were toss'd-- There Gisli feasted with his host.

"Of warriors triumphant--he Strode out from harps and revelry; And sped his shaft above the sea!

"Look, father, doth my heart bleed yet?

His arrow Brynhild's arrow met-- My gallies anchor'd in their rest.

"Again their arrows meet--swift lies That pierc'd me from their smiling eyes; How fiercely hard a man's heart dies!

"She false--he false! There came a day Pierc'd by the fierce chief's spear I lay-- My ghost rose shrieking from its clay.

"I saw on Brynhild's golden vest The shining locks of Gisli rest; I sought the h.e.l.l-way to the Blest.

"Father, put forth thy hand and tear Their twin shafts from my heart, all bare To thee--they rankle death--like there!

Said the voice of Evil to the ear of Good, "Clasp thou my strong, right hand, "Nor shall our clasp be known or understood "By any in the land."

"I, the dark giant, rule strongly on the earth, "Yet thou, bright one, and I "Sprang from the one great mystery--at one birth "We looked upon the sky!

"I labour at my bleak, my stern toil accurs'd Of all mankind--nor stay, To rest, to murmur "I hunger" or "I thirst!"

Nor for my joy delay.

"My strength pleads strongly with thee; doth any beat With hammer and with stone Past tools to use them to his deep defeat-- To turn them on his throne?

"Then I of G.o.d the mystery--toil thou with me Brother; but in the sight Of men who know not, I, the stern son shall be Of Darkness--Thou of Light!"