XVII. He talked of daggers and of darts, Of weeping eyes and wounded hearts, He said, though love was kin to grief, He said, my First--whose silent car It changed not half so fast; But still the lady shook her head, My Whole was all that he had said, And then he set a cypress wreath And drew his rapier from its sheath, XVIII. UNCOUTH Was I of face and form, Within my Second's dark recess My rude adorers knelt; 'Twas a fearful place; a pile of stones Stood for its stately door; Its music was of sighs and groans, And the torch light fell on human bones Unburied on the floor! The chieftain, ere his band he led, Came thither with his prayer; The boatman, ere his sail he spread, Watched for an omen there; And ever the shriek rang loud within, And ever the red blood ran, And amid the sin and smoke and din I sate with a changeless, endless grin, Forging my First for Man! My priests are rotting in their grave, My name and my memory pass away, Are called by mortals mine. |