Terror and beauty, fear and wondering Meet on thy brow, amazing all that see: All men do praise thee, ay, and everything; Thou art my Lord to whom I bend the knee. V. I fear thee, though I love. Who can behold Flames like a fire, except his mazèd view Both fear and joy unto thy feet I bring; God above Gods, High and Eternal King, I find no whither from thy power to flee, THE CHANT OF THE CHILDREN OF THE MIST. (Chant Royal.) I waited on a mountain's midmost side, The lifting of a cloud, and standing there, Keeping my soul in patience far and wide Beheld faint shadows wandering, felt the air Stirred as with voices which in passing by No band of pilgrims or of soldiers they- In happier days of old it was their pride To serve him on their knee and some were 'ware F'en of his voice or presence as they plied Their daily task, or ate their simple fare. Now in new glory shrouded, far and nigh He had withdrawn himself from ear and eye; Scorning such service as they knew to pay, His ministers were as the golden ray [spring,Shot from the sun when he would wake the Swift to perform and pliant to obey This was a people that had lost its king. Single as beasts, or if allied, allied But as the wolf who leaves his dusky lair To hound for common need, which scarce supplied, He lone returns with his disputed share, Even so sole, so scornful, or so shy, Each man of these pursued his way on high, Still high and higher, seeking through the grey Dim, serviceless, bereft and sorrowing This was a people that had lost its king. Then as the day wore on, and none descried The longed-for presence, as the way grew bare, As strength declined, and hope within them died A sad new birth,-the fruit of their despair,Stirred in their midst, and with a human cry Awoke a human love, and flushed a dry Sweet spring of tears, whose fertilising play In fealty that was only joined to pray; This was a people that had lost its king. So blent in heart and hand, so myriad-eyed, With gathering power and ever lessening care, The veiled beguilements of the way defied [fair; They cleave the cloud, and climb that mountain Till lo upon its crown at last they vie In songs of rapture as they hail the sky, And trace their lost one through the vast array Of tuneful suns, which keep not now at bay Their questing love, but help to waft and wing; And over all a voice which seems to say, This is a people that has found its king! Envoy. Lord of our lives! Thou scorned us that day KING BOREAS. (Chant Royal.) I sit enthroned 'mid icy wastes afar, Beyond the level land of endless snow, For months I see the brilliant polar star Shine on a shore, the lonelier none may know. Supreme I rule in monarchy of might, My realms are boundless as the realms of Night. Proud court I hold, and tremblingly obey My many minions from the isles of Day; And when my heralds sound aloud, behold My slaves appear with suppliant heads alway! I am great Boreas, King of wind and cold. I am the god of the winds that are! I blow where'er I list,-I come, I go. I rein my steeds, swift-prancing to and fro. The sobbing sea doth moan in pain, and pray, "Is there no refuge from the storm-king's sway?" I am as aged as the earth is o'd, Yet strong am I although my locks are grey; I loose my chains, and then with awful jar 'Gainst all the earth, and shrill their bugles blow. I bid them haste; they bound in eager flight Toward far fair lands, where'er the sun's warm light Makes mirth and joyance; there, in rude affray, They trample down, despoil, and crush and slay. They turn green meadows to a desert wold, And naught for rulers of the earth care they ;I am great Boreas, King of wind and cold. When in the sky, a lambent scimitar, In early eve Endymion's bride doth glow, When night is perfect, and no cloud doth mar The peace of nature, when the rivers flow Is soft and musical, and when the sprite Whispers to lovers on each breeze bedight With fragrance, then I steal forth, as I may, And clutch and flaunt aloft the snowy spray! I am in league with Death. When I unbar My triple-guarded doors, and there bestow Upon my frost-fiends freedom, bid them scar The brightest dales with summer blooms a-row, They breathe on every bower a deadly blight, And all is sere and withered in their sight. Unheeded now, Apollo's warming ray Wakes not the flower, for my chill breezes play Where once soft zephyrs swayed the marigold, And where his jargon piped the noisy jay,I am great Boreas, King of wind and cold. Envoy. O Princes, hearken what my trumpets say !— THE NEW EPIPHANY. (Chant Royal.) Awake, awake, nay, slumber not. nor sleep! |