MUSAGETES.

For the mountains’ hoarse greetings came hollow From stormy wind-chasms and caves, And I heard their wild cataracts wallow Huge bulks in long spasms of waves,

And that Demon said, “Lo! you must follow! And our path is o'er myriads of graves.” Then I felt that the black earth was porous And rotten with worms and with bones;

And I knew that the ground that now bore us Was cadaverous with Death's skeletons; And I saw horrid eyes, heard sonorous And dolorous gnashings and groans.

But the night of the tempest and thunder, The might of the terrible skies, And the fire of Hell that,— coiled under The hollow Earth,— smoulders and sighs,

And the laughter of stars and their wonder Mingled and mixed in its eyes. And we clomb — and the moon old and sterile Clomb with us o'er torrent and scar!

And I yearned towards her oceans of beryl, Wan mountains and cities of spar — “‘ Tis not well,” that one said, “you're in peril Of falling and failing your star.”

And we clomb — through a murmur of pinions, Thin rattle of talons and plumes; And a sense as of Boreal dominions Clove down to the abysms and tombs;

And the Night's naked, Ethiope minions Swarmed on us in legions of glooms. And we clomb — till we stood at the portal Of the uttermost point of the peak,

And it led with a step more than mortal Far upward some presence to seek; And I felt that this love was immortal, This love which had made me so weak.

We had clomb till the limbo of spirits Of darkness and crime deep below Swung nebular; nor could we hear its Lost wailings and moanings of woe,—

For we stood in a realm that inherits A vanquishing virgin of snow.