Unknown - The Arctic Queen
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Unknown >> The Arctic Queen
Soon the sound smote against a pinnacle
Which someway down the mountain had just caught
The radiance of the morning, and now stood
A ruby palace on a crystal base,
With emrald towers and columns sapphire-hued:
While at the summons, swift was lifted up
A shining net-work from behind the columns,
And out there flew two fair, unearthly sprites,
With wings like birds of Paradise, and bodies
Of shape uncertain; for so swiftly shifted
Their rainbow hues amid enwreathing mists,
That OLIVE likened them to those vagaries
Born to the eyes that gaze upon the spray
Of cataracts dashing in the sun. Their flying
Made music like the flowing on of streams,
They came and hovered in the air before her,
While she regarded them with timid looks
Of fear and pleasure, seeing not their features,
But floating hair of gold, and beamy brightness
As of white foreheads and blue, humid eyes.
Next moment she was lifted from the earth,
Encircled, as it were, by many rainbows,
And rushing, bird-like, through the airy space:
While a monotonous, soft and sleepy humming
Rose all around and filled her drowsy ears.
Brief time it was, 'till, with bewildered eyes,
She saw her fairies vanish in a mist,
Floating away in music, while she stood
Alone, far down the mountain opposite
The side that with such toil she just had climbed.
She stood alone--and where? the roses shrank
From her wan cheeks to view her new distress,--
Before her a dark chasm, and above her
A crowd of close and overhanging rocks,
All dripping, black, and hopelessly down-leant.
A glimmering hope now broke upon her sense--
Seeing an arch, and, far beyond, the gleam
Of lights that from some cavern stole away.
Under the arch she passed and found herself
Walking an ever-widening vista down,
Fading from twilight to auroral glows
And brightening into more than noon-day breadth
And gorgeousness of light, until she paused
Beneath the grand arch of that grand succession,
Standing amazed, one slender hand upheld
Shading her eyes, half blinded by that view
Of Arctic-Nature and of Arctic-Art.
In limitless magnificence the cave
Before her spread, a world within a world.
She entered in, like Eve in Paradise
Searching for Adam; and yet, oft beguiled
From the great love-thought, by the sights she saw.
If she glanced upward to the sparkling dome,
The lamps, swinging like suns as far above,
Shone down upon her beautiful young face,
Smiling to see them dwarfed within her eyes.
The crystal floor doubled her bashful feet;
She saw no walls; but the refulgent space
Was here and there disturbed by artful groups.
Once, by a fountain passing, dulcet murmurs,
Wooed her aside to listen; and, again,
Temples, which mimicked the frost's fairy work,
Burning with gems, attracted her to gaze.
Music, from hidden sources, beat the air
With wings of melody that flew abroad
Beyond th' enchanted sense, and darting back
Swept with a sweet vibration near her face.
Thrice o'er her brow she drew her languid hand,
That, if it were a dream, she might dispel
The gay enchantment; and thrice murmured o'er
The spells learned of her nurse in infancy,
Which would all witchcraft render innocent;
But that great cavern of the northern world
Was not by nurse's spells to be dissolved,
Growing more wond'rous, as she wondered more.
Now, 'neath her feet, the floor less polished grew,
And fountains dashed from the unsculptured rock;
She saw half-finished grottoes, fewer lights,
And heard a discord in the melody
As if of hammers and the shouts of workmen;
Meanwhile her heart loudly began to beat.
"BERTHO! I have come, BERTHO!" she cried out,
As the next moment, 'mid a swarthy group
Of dusky laborers, a familiar form
Raised itself from a shaft of phorphyry,
And turned itself to hear that throbbing heart.
A light too glad for smiles came o'er the face,
The shadowy face, uplifted from its toil,
And, "OLIVE!" echoed back her eager cry.
The fairest sight that cavern ever saw
Was that young girl holding her glowing arms
To clasp her love; her sweet mouth all a-tremble,
Her dark eyes flashing joy and tender tears,
Her bosom fluttering in its snowy folds
With sudden pleasure;--but, what clasped she?
A shadow! Pale and silent she shrank back;
Her lover folded up his hopeless arms;
His face a melancholy so profound put on
That OLIVE to his side again drew near.
"Is this one mystery of this mystic world--
This world of phantoms?" sighed the stricken girl.
"Oh! why did hope keep life within my breast,
And passion thrill me with strange fortitude?
Why did I save the kisses of my lips
For him who nevermore can give them back?
Why did I smile to think my arms were soft
When thus this spirit fades within their clasp?
BERTHO!--that scornful Queen did tell me this.
And yet I did not comprehend her words.
There is no warmth nor beauty in this land!
Its people have no hearts--know not of love--
Their thoughts are colder than their beds of snow.
Indeed, this is no world!--but some vain dream,
Troubling my sleep, and I cannot awake.
Love then, is a deceitful fantasy--
BERTHO is dead--is dead--and yet not dead!
Life is not life"--
Her wild, distrustful words
Here ended, as she saw the bitterness
Which stormed across the spirit's anguished face:--
"Forbear, poor child! thy pitiful complaints!
When through these long years of distasteful toil
I thought of thee, unceasing, day and night,
Calling on heaven to bend thy steps towards me,
I thought not that this spirit, weary, worn,
And from the covering of its body torn,
Its feeling could retain and substance lose.
Fool that I was! to sigh for human love!
Why art thou here to madden me with looks,--
Those womanly, caressing looks which fill
My soul with wild desires! Back, to thy home,
In that gold-girdled circle of daylight,
That island of elysian loveliness,
Where thou and I did'st one time idly dream!
There breathe the passionate breath of orange-flowers--
Walk in the sunlight till thy brows are flushed
With its warm kisses--plunge thy snowy feet
In the embracing waves and silver sand--
Shake down magnolia-blossoms on thy hair--
Answer the nightingales' delicious song
With thy sweet cries--and, on bright eves, look up
And charm the moon upon her lingering way
With that soft fire of thine entrancing eyes!
Thou wilt not for regret or tears find time.
Some lover, clothed in human dignity
And tangible robes of life, will haunt thy steps,
Drawing up, with magnetic looks, the smiles
Which lie deep down in thy now tearful orbs;
And, wiling from their blissful hiding-place,
The bashful dimples to thy blushing cheeks,
And,--it may be--with human eloquence,
Beguile thy hand to rest within his own,
Sitting, as we have sat,--thy glossy hair
Rippling in golden waves across his breast."
"Can he be mad as well as dead?" the girl
Murmured aside! and then her sorrowing brow
She lifted proudly, while a sudden fire
Sprang to her lips and eyes--her trembling voice
Steadied itself on her unfaltering love.--
"Forgive me, BERTHO, that my woman's heart,
Finding thee thus, should, for an instant, only,
Shrink back from thee in awe and deep regret.
My love, which has endured so much, grows strong
In its endurance; and it only asks
That I may never from thy side be driven.
Talk not of islands in a sunny sea,
Or fragrant blooms, or singing nightingales!
I love them not. My father's marble floors
Were colder than the icy plains I've passed,
When thy dear footsteps fled them. Be content.
Love like our own needs not the warmth of sighs
Or soft caresses to keep pure the fire
Upon the sacred shrine; 'twill burn as bright,
Though never by the breath of kisses fanned;
'Tis not a fading blossom--nor a bird
That only sings amid the orange-flowers.
What have I still?--thy spirit, which is THOU.
What have I lost?--thy body, which I loved
But as the garment which adorned thy soul.
Thou art my BERTHO still! I, thy fond OLIVE,
Who comes to share thy banishment with thee.
Be of good cheer. Only one century
Can OENE thrall thee. In the meanwhile, I
Shall die, and be a spirit, as thou art.
Until that time I will abide with thee;
We will on one another patient wait,
Till, hand in hand we leave these dismal shores
And celebrate our marriage-day in heaven."
PART THIRD.
Tumultuous music filled the spacious cave.
OENE was coming with her virgin train,
Impatient to behold what further charms,
Her prisoned laborers at their tasks had wrought.
Blowing on quaintly curved and curious shells
Which made a sea-like music--mingled up
Of sweet, unsyllabled sounds, and long-drawn sighs,
Heavy with memories of coral reefs,
Murmuring shores, caverns, and surging deeps--
There flew, midway between the roof and floor,
A band of sprites which lived in air or sea;
With eyes like twinkling stars, and winged feet,
And sparkling fins down either shoulder-blade,
And cheeks puffed out and flushing with their toil.
Announced by these, the courtly train approached
The spot where BERTHO and his OLIVE stood,
Close by an emrald rock, within whose breast
A living spring slept like a smiling child.
Around the brim BERTHO had sculptured moss
And rare similitudes of southern flowers;
Shaped violets from sapphires, and from stalks,
Hung ruby roses, bright, but without soul,
As perfumeless as was that frigid land.
OENE, resplendent as a wintry moon,
Bent her proud eyes upon the waiting pair:--
"So! thou hast found thy lover, southern maid?
Are, then, these sunbeams which flow from thy head,
Pinions as well as tresses bearing thee
Across the perilous chasm which guards our cave?"
"Yes! I have found my lover, noble OENE;
And I am happy working by his side.
See! this sweet spring which we have brimmed with flowers--
A mirror for thy beautiful face, O Queen!
In adding my slight labor to his own,
In hopes that thou would'st never banish me,
But leave me by his side to aid his work,
I've found a consolation very sweet,
And have been happy."
"But _I_ have not been!"
Spoke BERTHO with a moody passionateness,
"And never can be till I am restored
To the full use of all my natural powers.
Happy! when hearing this young creature's laugh--
Seeing the dimples, begging for a kiss,
Peep from her cheeks, and hide themselves again--
Feeling her soft breath warming o'er my brow--
Yet be this bodiless ghost of what I was!
O, Queen! wilt thou not give me back that shape--
Which thou dids't cruelly bereave me of--
That I, again, may feel my bounding heart
Throbbing against the bosom of my bride?
Then thou shalt find what grateful souls can do.
For I will court invention, study art,
To decorate this favorite cave anew;
And she I love will serve thee patiently
Unnumbered years, till we our freedom earn."
The sternness of his tone had melted down
To liquid sweetness, and his fiery eyes
Grown humid, as he fixed them on the Queen
In soft entreaty.
From her lofty brow,
So pale and passive, had the shadow rolled,
As slightly and unconsciously she bent
To his quick utterance. A sudden ray
Stole from the twilight of her deepening eyes,
And a warm redness into either cheek,
Troubling its cold repose, shot quickly up.
A moment of suspense, and then she spoke:
"'Tis true that I thy body might restore,
Since but suspension of its human powers,
And not its loss or injury, I control.
But what assurance have I that this boon
May not prove dangerous? Mortals have what we,
With all our vast machinery and weird powers
Moving the earth, the sea and air, have not--
And that is--SOUL. A soul and body, too,
Might circumvent us--work us desperate harm;--
At least 'tis wise to fear the things unknown,
And to be chary how we give them scope.
As long as thy body's powers restrain,
Thy spirit to my will in bondage is;
Thou hast no wherewithal to make ado--
No weapon at thy service--art a slave,--
And shall I give to thee a master's place?
Yet, thou hast wakened in me a new thought.
What is this love of which you mortals tell?--
Which puts such tender sweetness in your tones
Such brightness in your looks, and makes you turn
Upon each other such delighted eyes?
Your words have stirred strange pleasure in my heart:
I, too, would know what love is. I command
That thou shalt teach me, BERTHO. Let the girl
Return, uninjured, to her southern bowers;
Whilst thou remain to teach me this new lore.
Perchance, in finding Love, I'll gain a soul,
And learn of immortality; and all
The vague, sad intuitions that now mock me,
Make real, and I become what I have dreamed.
Make these things come to pass, and thou shalt have,
Thy body and thy freedom, and a place,
The highest of my chieftains. Follow me!"
These ominous words of the enamored Queen,
Spoken as though she knew not what it was
That one should think of disobedience,
Poor OLIVE heard, with looks of agony
Fixed on the speaker's face--that Northern face,
Wild in its power and in its beauty weird.
The starry halo of that tintless crown,
The midnight blackness of her plentiful hair,
Set off the splendor of the countenance
On which the maiden bent her pale regard.
A jealous terror urged her on to say--
"Love is not taught, Queen OENE; 'tis a gift
Mysterious as life, and more divine;
The congregated glories of this cave,
With all its jewelled lamps and sparkling roof
Could never purchase one of its small joys.
Love, in exchange, takes nothing but itself,
Power cannot claim it--fear cannot command--
It is a tribute Queens cannot exact.
The humblest peasant, singing in her hut,
Is often richer than the proudest princess:
It is the gift God left the human race
To keep them from despair, when sin and shame,
Pain, poverty, and death, and madness came
Among the people. When a youthful pair,
Look in each other's eyes and say--"We love"--
The common earth grows to a heavenly world.
Singing of birds, shining of summer suns,
Blooming of flowers and brightness of the moon,
Have a new charm to their elated sense;
They hear the music of the Universe,
Walking, with light feet, to the harmony;
Careless of care and disbelieving pain,
Grateful for life--and all, because _they love_.
Thus have _we_ said those irrecallable words--
Solemnly smiling in each other's eyes--
BERTHO and I--and never to unsay!
Therefore, sweet Queen, command him not, I pray,
To an impossible thing, which needs compel
Rebellion to the will which he respects.
I am a princess, yet will not refuse,
The humblest service which thy pride requires,
If I from BERTHO am not forced to part."
Imperious OENE turned her scornful eyes
Quickly to BERTHO's, as in inquiry;
While he, gathering resolve from OLIVE's face
Of love and anguish, answered the mute look:
"I cannot teach thee love, since it is learned
Only when one heart from another takes
The sweet contagion; but, my bride and I
May humbly teach thee other human lore.
Thou say'st thou hast no soul. This cannot be,
Since reason and all mental gifts are thine;
Within the lovely calyx sleeps the germ,--
A flower as yet unblossomed. Warmth and light
From the great spiritual Sun alone it wants
To bud and bloom into the fullest life.
Shall we expound this marvellous mystery?--
Tell thee of Endless Life which still unfolds
Till it doth circle every star in heaven?--
And light within thy spotless bosom's shrine
The silvery flame of Christ's unwavering love--
A love which we, indeed, would gladly teach,
The parent of all other, whose pure fire
Doth hallow and exalt our earthly hopes.
We'll learn those peerless lips to syllable, GOD!--
A word that thrills the Universe with awe!
Thou shalt no more a lovely heathen be,
But a sweet Woman, and a child of Heaven."
A slow, soft light, into the wondering eyes
Intently fixed upon the speaker, came--
A deeper glow than from their slumberous blue
Had ever startled; as she slightly bent,
With earnest air, her crowned, resplendent head.
"Speak on!" she bade, "my thirsty heart is held
To catch your words, as lillies catch the dew--
So eager that it fain would overbrim
With the fresh gathering. It has waited long;
And now, it shall be filled to bright excess.
Speak on! I am impatient. But, first say
That I shall then be worthier of love,--
When I have mastered all these subtle things
That thou wilt love me better than this girl.
I'll have thee for my teacher--thee alone;
She shall return to her gay, foreign home,
Laded with many a costly gift from me;
I'll bid my warriors wait upon her steps,--
My North-Lights shall illuminate her way,
No frost shall nip the redness of her cheeks,
And no rude wind shall bluster round her feet."
"The frost of fear already nips her cheeks
At thought of living separate from me;
At the mere word she droops, a blighted flower.
Nay, gracious Queen? accept of both our hearts,
And our united service," BERTHO plead.
Down on her knees sank OLIVE, bending low
Her suppliant head, murmuring "Accept our hearts;"--
But the same beauty which had conquered WOLE
Angered the jealous Queen; she could not brook
The glistening of those unbound locks of gold;
A pain, before unknown, stung her proud heart;
While the fierce consciousness of absolute power
Urged her to tyrannous deeds. She waved her hand,
And while her maidens shrank as if in dread,
The finny sprites blew the shrill note of war,
At which an hundred warriors gathered round.
OLIVE they seized and shut her in a cell--
The very temple she had so admired--
Where, heedless of her piteous shrieks and tears
They left her to her grief; while BERTHO went,
Securely guarded by their threatening spears,
Following his conqueror's receding steps.
Poor OLIVE, the forlornest captive bird
That ever beat its heart out in a cage,
Fluttered the pinions of her restless will
In vain against her dungeon. What cared she
That this same dungeon had an emrald floor
And lattice-work of gold, or that the spring
Which closed the door, was on a jewel hinged?
The lustre of the cave flowed through her cell,
And she could strain her weary eyes to catch
Glimpses of splendor, which but mocked her state.
The tiresome days rolled round, never relieved
By the refreshing shadows of the night;
Until the lamps so often counted o'er,
Seemed burning in her brain; and she had fears
That madness lurked within her feverish veins.
The ghouls who chanced to pass her, never spake;
At last, with joy, the stranger of the mount
She saw approaching:
"Ah! Sir JOHN," she cried--
Her pale face, peering through the lattice-work--
"Thou find'st me in a miserable plight--
A closer prisoner by far than thou."
"Why, thou bright bird, has OENE caged thee here--
Prisoned an oriole in her Arctic bowers?
'Tis well we meet. As I was solacing
My banishment, by wandering here and there,
Greeting old Thug by the day's sickly smile,
I chanced within this cavern, where surprise
And pleasure lured me on from scene to scene.
What tyrant holds thee in this glittering cell?"
"From OENE's anger I am suffering,--
Yes, dear sir JOHN, from more than angry hate--
From that implacable passion, worst of all,
And cruelest of purpose, jealousy.
I'd trust the tenderness of hungry wolves,
The beauty of the cobra, or the talk
Of waters to the rocks--but not the will
Of woman, when to jealous thoughts aroused.
She binds me here and bears my love away,
To tempt him with a thousand sweetest wiles--
With beauty, wealth, ambition, vanity,
And all that easiest moves a man's proud heart.
How shall I know if BERTHO--_even he_--
Has truth or virtue beyond this rich price?
Or, she may torture him,--by pain compel
Consent to her soft wish and queenly will.
Alas, Sir JOHN, I am very miserable!"
"Shall I not play the messenger, and urge
Thy cause before her, if, by inquiry,
I find the Queen still visiting old Thug?"
"Oh, if thou would'st and yet--what should I gain?
Nothing, nothing!--still, I should hear from _him_--
Should know the worst. I'll pray for thy success,
And thank thee from my heart, if thou wilt go!"
Long time Sir JOHN, misled by wicked sprites,
Searched for the Queen! until, by some kind chance,
He wandered through a grotto by the sea,
Where silver pendules from the ceiling hung
And gossip ripples whispered at the door.
Here, on a seat from solid crystal hewn
Sat OENE,--BERTHO at her feet,--her hand
Nestled amid the ringlets of his hair,
Like some white dove amid the wav'ring shade;
Her eyes bent softly on his countenance;
The crimson of his fiery southern blood
Burned through the brown of his defiant cheek;
His eyes were downcast, that their sullen fire
Should not too much betray him, as he lay,
A half-tamed lion at his mistress' feet,
Restless, yet yielding to the golden chain.
In a low voice, which, like a pent-up stream,
Chafed at its boundaries, he made reply
To her incessant questions of the world,
Of human life and love, of death, and heaven.
When bold Sir JOHN intruded on the scene
OENE resumed her native haughtiness.
"I've come to plead the cause of a sweet child,
Who, like a wild-bird newly caught and caged,
Within her cell is fretting. Noble Queen,
I'm not an eloquent nor fair young man,
To please a gentle fancy; but my tongue
And mind shall do thy bidding, should there be
Aught which my humble wisdom could expound.
The meanwhile he who now instructs thee, hastes
To ope the prison door and let the bird
Flutter to her true home within his breast."
Scarce were these words with a firm purpose said,
When all the scene was changed. Where erst a Queen,
In shape most loveable, did blushing sit,
A terrible and yet a glorious form
Rose in portentious wrath; her star-crowned head
Paled the chaste lustre of the silvery dome.
It was no shame to him that BERTHO fled,
Dismayed, before the anger of her eyes,
For they were awful. Parted from Sir JOHN,
And flying through a dark, unknown ravine,
He lost himself in tangled labyrinths:
Stumbling o'er rocks--only by daring leaps
Saving himself from dropping into chasms
Which opened suddenly across his path.
From tortuous windings underneath the ground,
At length released, he thenceforth knew the way,
And sped across the mountain to the cave
Where OLIVE pined, weeping despairing tears.
Like a swift arrow through the sunlight shot
He passed athwart its glory, till he reached
Her prison--heard her sudden cry of joy--
Touched the elaborate spring which bound her in,
And freed her, while she gazed in mute surprise.
"Love! look not thus incredulous of hope!
This temple was thy lover's handiwork--
This curious spring he wrought,--and what he did
He can undo. My sweetest! it is I:--
Thy living, breathing BERTHO stands before thee!
This happiness, at least, I owe the Queen,
Who, since repentant, may her gift resume,
Should Heaven not grant us now a quick escape.
But once--this once--though death should press me next--
Come to my arms--to thy dear bosom draw me,
So fondly close!--and feed my famished lips
With kisses worth a life of wo to gain!
Nay, pause not to inquire--'tis better thus
To feel the throbbing of thy timid heart,
Than to waste breath in words.--
"How did it come?
I know not: I was tranced in sleep profound,
And when I woke I was my former self.
Queen OENE hoped my gratitude would grow
To love, in time; and I was grateful--would
Have given her everything but what was thine,
And that alone she coveted. Come, sweet!
Fly from this land forlorn:--if miracles
Are still in fashion, one might serve us well.
Cling to my guiding hand; trust all to me;
My soul is so elate I would not flinch
From meeting every imp of this dark land--
The touch of thy soft hand is such a triumph!"