III

Well—though there rose not to the Maiden's mind,
Such visions with such thoughts entwined,
She could not fail Awestruck to mark how vast a bed
Of brilliants was above her spread,
As 'twere the sediment and golden grail
By some great Sea of upper Light deposited:
page 184 Nor all the 6ner showers of gems that far away
Fused into fainter light-wreaths lay
Mailing the mournful depths of solemn blue:
Nor how across it all meandering wide
Went a pale, luminous smoke that swarmed
With sparks, as from the unseen fires it rose
Of some vast spectral beings that performed
Their unimaginable rites outside:
She wondered too
At those mysterious stains of darkest hue,
Unfathomable shafts of blindest vacancy
Like scathing tracks of Demon dread
Before whose flight the myriad brilliances
Shrank blighted—marred—as shrink and close
Rock-purpling tribes of sea-anemones
Beneath the careless tread
Of one who by the side of Ocean goes.

But shunning all that glorious Company
There, furtively and swift, a Meteorite, see!
Slides into light a moment, and is gone!
Of all unnoted, noting none;
In stealthy chase (she thought) or bent
On secret mission—but apart, alone—
And, utterly absorbed in his unknown intent.

All was so solemn, vast, etherial, strange—
Complete within its wondrous self—removed
So far from our dark world of chance and change,
From all she hoped, or feared, or loved,
The longer on the scene she dwelt,
More helpless still the maiden felt,
More feeble, specklike, in the gleaming dumb Immensity.
page 185 What, though she had been taught to trace
Amid the million throbbing hearts of fire,
Ancestral spirits of her race
Whose fame had won them that high place,—
Those steady stars, unwinking, bold,
That well might souls of heroes be,
From them, so proud, and calm, and cold
How could she look for sympathy?
But where were they, so gentle, clear,
Sweet innocent spirits in timid lustres shrined,
Whom oft at twilight she would mark
Come trembling through the melting dark,
As then, then only confident enough
(Like fawns upon the point to turn and fly)
With fluttering heart to hesitate so nigh?—
They must be, sure, of tenderer stuff,—
Have souls that pity could inspire!
Ah, idle seemed the fond desire
Amid the thronging hosts to find
One kindred heart from whom a Maid
Might look for love or hope for any aid!
For if her glance for many moments rested
On any single group of all that sprinkled
The skies, the fancy then her brain infested,
They were tall radiant Figures downward peering
From shining strongholds, high and free
And safe above her, while behind them leering
Still more and more kept crowding in to see,
With eyes that with malicious pleasure twinkled
At her poor puny efforts. And her guide,
Her pilot star could be no more descried;
So by the glorious vision more deprest
page 186 Than strengthened by the partial rest,
She turns again,
And plies her weary shoulders with increasing pain.

Poor outworn Amohia!—world-abandoned
Maid, Thy brave strong heart is now thine only aid!

"Ah! if at last I sink—"
It blanched her cheek to think
The thought—her heart a moment ceased to beat—
"Oh might I then on that dear shore be thrown
And by Ranoro found alone!
And if he loved me with a love like mine
Ah, would not even then my bosom own
Some feeble flutter of a joy divine
When frantic he would clasp, the cold, cold form
With vain caresses warm—
No love returned, no answering heat;
Then curse; the intolerable light—nor stay—
But dashing out his life in Some quick way
While the loathed Universe whirled off his brain.
With fainting fervour strain
Our dead and dying hearts together—never to part again!

But if, as once I think you said,—
Laughing at what I told you of the gloom
And sordid horror of our Reinga dread—
The white man hopes a better doom
For spirits of the dead,
Oh would not mine low hovering for a while,
Linger for yours, Ranoro! Then, O bliss! to speed
Together to that happier land—
page 187 For they would rush together freed,
And wondering with a pensive happy smile
At all the maddening care and heed
That vexed the senseless forms entwined upon the strand.

Nay, live, Ranoro! live—and sometimes give
A thought to your poor-—lost—" The bitter tear
Was checked before it reached her eyes;
And that throat-agony forbid to rise:
With resolute will
She bids the unnerving visions disappear;
And the brave Maiden tries
To rally her spent force with thoughts of meeting,
With the deep rapture of Ranoro's greeting.
Alas, though feebly struggling still
With patient anguish on her brow,
Poor gallant Amohia is exhausted now.