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XLV. I dreaded not the tempest, nor did he Who bore me, but his eyeballs wide and red Turn'd on the lightning's cleft exultingly; And when the earth beneath his tameless tread, Shook with the sullen thunder, he would spread His nostrils to the blast, and joyously Mock the fierce peal with neighings;–thus we sped O'er the lit plain, and soon I could descry Where Death and Fire had gorged the spoil of victory.
XLVI. There was a desolate village in a wood, Whose bloom-inwoven leaves now scattering fed The hungry storm; it was a place of blood, A heap of hearthless walls;–the flames were dead Within those dwellings now, the life had fled From all those corpses now, but the wide sky Flooded with lightning was ribb'd overhead By the black rafters, and around did lie Women, and babes, and men, slaughter'd confusedly.
XLVII. Beside the sountain in the market-place Dismounting, I beheld those corpses stare With horny eyes upon each other's face, And on the earth and on the vacant air, And upon me, close to the waters where I stoop'd to slake my thirst;-Ishrank to taste, For the salt bitterness of blood was there; But tied the steed beside, and sought in haste If any yet survived amid that ghastly waste.
No living thing was there beside one woman,
The Plague's blue kisses—soon millions shall pledge
XLIX. “My name is Pestilence—this bosom dry, Once fed two babes—a sister and a brother— When I came home, one in the blood did lie Of three death-wounds—the flames had ate the other! Since then I have no longer been a mother, But I am Pestilence ;-hither and thither I flit about, that I may slay and smother;-All lips which I have kiss'd must surely wither, But Death's—if thou art he, we'll go to work together!
“What seek'st thou here? the moonlight comes in
Those whom these lips have kiss'd, alone. No more, no more '''
And joy was ours to meet: she was most Palo
Night's latest veil, and on our bridal couch
Her chill'd heart having cherish'd in my bo.
And fear, and all that dark despondence dothin”
Her madness was a beam of light, a power
Deep curses, like the voice of flames far underneath.
Past like a spark sent up out of a burning oven.
XVIII. “It was a babe, beautiful from its birth— It was like thee, dear love! its eyes were thine. Its brow, its lips, and so upon the earth It laid its fingers, as now rest on mine Thine own beloved —'t was a dream divine; Even to remember how it fled, how swift, How utterly, might make the heart repineThough 't was a dream."—Then Cythma did uplift Her looks on mine, as if some doubt she soughl w shift: XIX. A doubt which would not flee, a tendemes Of questioning grief, a source of thronging team; Which, having past, as one whom sobs opprest. She spoke: “Yes, in the wilderness of year Her memory, aye, like a green home appeam, She suck'd her fill even at this breast, sweet kot For many months. I had no mortal fears; Methought I felt her lips and breath approveIt was a human thing which to my bosom clove