Part 40 (1/2)

THE BANQUET HALL.

The old stupendous hall has but one door, And in the dusk it seems that more and more The walls recede in s.p.a.ce unlimited.

At the far end there is a table spread That in the dreary void with splendor s.h.i.+nes; For ceiling we behold but rafter lines.

The table is arranged for one sole guest, A solitary chair doth near it rest, Throne-like, 'neath canopy that droopeth down From the black beams; upon the walls are shown The painted histories of the olden might, The King of the Wends Tha.s.silo's stern fight On land with Nimrod, and on ocean wide With Neptune. Rivers too personified Appear--the Rhine as by the Meuse betrayed, And fading groups of Odin in the shade, And the wolf Fenrir and the Asgard snake.

One might the place for dragons' stable take.

The only lights that in the shed appear Spring from the table's giant chandelier With seven iron branches--brought from h.e.l.l By Attila Archangel, people tell, When he had conquered Mammon--and they say That seven souls were the first flames that day.

This banquet hall looks an abyss outlined With shadowy vagueness, though indeed we find In the far depth upon the table spread A sudden, strong, and glaring light is shed, Striking upon the goldsmith's burnished works, And on the pheasants killed by traitor hawks.

Loaded the table is with viands cold, Ewers and flagons, all enough of old To make a love feast. All the napery Was Friesland's famous make; and fair to see The dishes, silver-gilt and bordered round With flowers; for fruit, here strawberries were found And citrons, apples too, and nectarines.

The wooden bowls were carved in cunning lines By peasants of the Murg, whose skilful hands With patient toil reclaim the barren lands And make their gardens flourish on a rock, Or mountain where we see the hunters flock.

Gold fountain-cup, with handles Florentine, Shows Acteons horned, though armed and booted fine, Who fight with sword in hand against the hounds.

Roses and gladioles make up bright mounds Of flowers, with juniper and aniseed; While sage, all newly cut for this great need, Covers the Persian carpet that is spread Beneath the table, and so helps to shed Around a perfume of the balmy spring.

Beyond is desolation withering.

One hears within the hollow dreary s.p.a.ce Across the grove, made fresh by summer's grace, The wind that ever is with mystic might A spirit ripple of the Infinite.

The gla.s.s restored to frames to creak is made By bl.u.s.tering wind that comes from neighboring glade.

Strange in this dream-like place, so drear and lone, The guest expected should be living one!

The seven lights from seven arms make glow Almost with life the staring eyes that show On the dim frescoes--and along the walls Is here and there a stool, or the light falls O'er some long chest, with likeness to a tomb.

Yet was displayed amid the mournful gloom Some copper vessels, and some crockery ware.

The door--as if it must, yet scarcely dare-- Had opened widely to the night's fresh air.

No voice is heard, for man has fled the place; But Terror crouches in the corners' s.p.a.ce, And waits the coming guest. This banquet hall Of t.i.tans is so high, that he who shall With wandering eye look up from beam to beam Of the confused wild roof will haply seem To wonder that the stars he sees not there.

Giants the spiders are, that weave with care Their hideous webs, which float the joists amid, Joists whose dark ends in griffins' jaws are hid.

The light is lurid, and the air like death, And dark and foul. Even Night holds its breath Awhile. One might suppose the door had fear To move its double leaves--their noise to hear.

VIII.

WHAT MORE WAS TO BE SEEN.

But the great hall of generations dead Has something more sepulchral and more dread Than lurid glare from seven-branched chandelier Or table lone with stately das near-- Two rows of arches o'er a colonnade With knights on horseback all in mail arrayed, Each one disposed with pillar at his back And to another vis-a-vis. Nor lack The fittings all complete; in each right hand A lance is seen; the armored horses stand With chamfrons laced, and harness buckled sure; The cuissarts' studs are by their clamps secure; The dirks stand out upon the saddle-bow; Even unto the horses' feet do flow Caparisons,--the leather all well clasped, The gorget and the spurs with bronze tongues hasped, The s.h.i.+ning long sword from the saddle hung, The battle-axe across the back was flung.

Under the arm a trusty dagger rests, Each spiked knee-piece its murderous power attests.

Feet press the stirrups--hands on bridle shown Proclaim all ready, with the visors down, And yet they stir not, nor is audible A sound to make the sight less terrible.

Each monstrous horse a frontal horn doth bear, If e'er the Prince of Darkness herdsman were, These cattle black were his by surest right, Like things but seen in horrid dreams of night.

The steeds are swathed in trappings manifold, The armed knights are grave, and stern, and cold, Terrific too; the clench'd fists seem to hold Some frightful missive, which the phantom hands Would show, if opened out at h.e.l.l's commands.

The dusk exaggerates their giant size, The shade is awed--the pillars coldly rise.

Oh, Night! why are these awful warriors here?

Horses and hors.e.m.e.n that make gazers fear Are only empty armor. But erect And haughty mien they all affect And threatening air--though shades of iron still.

Are they strange larvae--these their statues ill?

No. They are dreams of horror clothed in bra.s.s, Which from profoundest depths of evil pa.s.s With futile aim to dare the Infinite!

Souls tremble at the silent spectre sight, As if in this mysterious cavalcade They saw the weird and mystic halt was made Of them who at the coming dawn of day Would fade, and from their vision pa.s.s away.

A stranger looking in, these masks to see, Might deem from Death some mandate there might be At times to burst the tombs--the dead to wear A human shape, and mustering ranks appear Of phantoms, each confronting other shade.

Grave-clothes are not more grim and sombre made Than are these helms; the deaf and sealed-up graves Are not more icy than these arms; the staves Of hideous biers have not their joints more strong Than are the joinings of these legs; the long Scaled gauntlet fingers look like worms that s.h.i.+ne, And battle robes to shroud-like folds incline.

The heads are skull-like, and the stony feet Seem for the charnel house but only meet.

The pikes have death's-heads carved, and seem to be Too heavy; but the shapes defiantly Sit proudly in the saddle--and perforce The rider looks united to the horse!

The network of their mail doth clearly cross.

The Marquis' mortar beams near Ducal wreath, And on the helm and gleaming s.h.i.+eld beneath Alternate triple pearls with leaves displayed Of parsley, and the royal robes are made So large that with the knightly harness they Seem to o'ermaster palfreys every way.

To Rome the oldest armor might be traced, And men and horses' armor interlaced Blent horribly; the man and steed we feel Made but one hydra with its scales of steel.