Part 8 (1/2)

But Mark was come of the glittering towns Where hot white details show, Where men can number and expound, And his faith grew in a hard ground Of doubt and reason and falsehood found, Where no faith else could grow.

Belief that grew of all beliefs One moment back was blown And belief that stood on unbelief Stood up iron and alone.

The Wess.e.x crescent backwards Crushed, as with b.l.o.o.d.y spear Went Elf roaring and routing, And Mark against Elf yet shouting, Shocked, in his mid-career.

Right on the Roman s.h.i.+eld and sword Did spear of the Rhine maids run; But the s.h.i.+eld s.h.i.+fted never, The sword rang down to sever, The great Rhine sang for ever, And the songs of Elf were done.

And a great thunder of Christian men Went up against the sky, Saying, ”G.o.d hath broken the evil spear Ere the good man's blood was dry.”

”Spears at the charge!” yelled Mark amain.

”Death on the G.o.ds of death!

Over the thrones of doom and blood Goeth G.o.d that is a craftsman good, And gold and iron, earth and wood, Loveth and laboureth.

”The fruits leap up in all your farms, The lamps in each abode; G.o.d of all good things done on earth, All wheels or webs of any worth, The G.o.d that makes the roof, Gurth, The G.o.d that makes the road.

”The G.o.d that heweth kings in oak Writeth songs on vellum, G.o.d of gold and flaming gla.s.s, Confregit potentias Acrcuum, scutum, Gorlias, Gladium et bellum.”

Steel and lightning broke about him, Battle-bays and palm, All the sea-kings swayed among Woods of the Wess.e.x arms upflung, The trumpet of the Roman tongue, The thunder of the psalm.

And midmost of that rolling field Ran Ogier ragingly, Las.h.i.+ng at Mark, who turned his blow, And brake the helm about his brow, And broke him to his knee.

Then Ogier heaved over his head His huge round s.h.i.+eld of proof; But Mark set one foot on the s.h.i.+eld, One on some sundered rock upheeled, And towered above the tossing field, A statue on a roof.

Dealing far blows about the fight, Like thunder-bolts a-roam, Like birds about the battle-field, While Ogier writhed under his s.h.i.+eld Like a tortoise in his dome.

But hate in the buried Ogier Was strong as pain in h.e.l.l, With bare brute hand from the inside He burst the s.h.i.+eld of bra.s.s and hide, And a death-stroke to the Roman's side Sent suddenly and well.

Then the great statue on the s.h.i.+eld Looked his last look around With level and imperial eye; And Mark, the man from Italy, Fell in the sea of agony, And died without a sound.

And Ogier, leaping up alive, Hurled his huge s.h.i.+eld away Flying, as when a juggler flings A whizzing plate in play.

And held two arms up rigidly, And roared to all the Danes: ”Fallen is Rome, yea, fallen The city of the plains!

”Shall no man born remember, That breaketh wood or weald, How long she stood on the roof of the world As he stood on my s.h.i.+eld.

”The new wild world forgetteth her As foam fades on the sea, How long she stood with her foot on Man As he with his foot on me.

”No more shall the brown men of the south Move like the ants in lines, To quiet men with olives Or madden men with vines.

”No more shall the white towns of the south, Where Tiber and Nilus run, Sitting around a secret sea Wors.h.i.+p a secret sun.

”The blind G.o.ds roar for Rome fallen, And forum and garland gone, For the ice of the north is broken, And the sea of the north comes on.

”The blind G.o.ds roar and rave and dream Of all cities under the sea, For the heart of the north is broken, And the blood of the north is free.

”Down from the dome of the world we come, Rivers on rivers down, Under us swirl the sects and hordes And the high dooms we drown.