Page:TheBirth of the War-God.djvu/88

76 Each palace dome, each pinnacle and height Catching new lustre from his crest of light. On swept the pageant,—on the God alone The eager glances of the dames were thrown; On his bright form they fed the rapturous gaze, And only turned to marvel and to praise: — "Oh, well and wisely, such a Lord to gain The Mountain- Maid endured the toil and pain; To be his slave were joy—but Oh, how blest The wife—the loved one—lying on his breast! Surely in vain, had not the Lord of Life Matched this fond bridegroom and this loving wife, Had been his wish to give the Worlds a mould Of perfect beauty!—falsely have they told How the young Flower-armed God was burnt by fire At the red flash of 's vengeful ire— No,—jealous Love a fairer form confessed And cast away his own, no more the loveliest. How glorious is the Mountain King, how proud Earth's stately pillar, girt about with cloud! Now will he lift his lofty head more high Knit close to by this holy tie."

Such words of praise from many a bright-eyed dame On 's ear with soothing witchery came: Through the broad streets mid loud acclaim he rode, And reached the palace where the King abode; As leaves the Sun a cloud at eventide, There he descended from his monster's side. Leaning on 's arm he passed the door Where mighty entered in before: