Shepherds as well, at yon uncanny season
Early your charges fold, and it mislike you
A spell should motionless and rigid strike you
“For seven years’ time. The Fairies’ Cavern, too,
Looses about these days its eerie crew.
Winged or four-footed, they o’er Crau disperse;
While, from their lairs aroused, the sorcerers
Gather, the farandoulo67 dance, and sup
An evil potion from a golden cup.
“The dwarf-oaks dance as well. Lord, how they trip it!
Meanwhile there’s Garamaude in wait for Gripet.68
Fie, cruel flirt! Ay, seize the carrion,
And claw her bowels out! Now they are gone—
Nay, but they come again! And, oh, despair!
The monster stealing through the sea-kale there,
“The one who like a burglar crouched and ran,
Is Bambarouche, babe-stealing harridan.
Her wailing prey in her long claw she takes,
Lifts on her horny head, and off she makes.
And yon’s another! She’s the Nightmare-sprite
Comes down the chimney-flue at dead of night,
“And stealthy climbs upon the sleeper’s breast,
Who, as with weight of a tall tower opprest,
Hath horrid dreams. Hi! What a hideous racket!
My dears, ’tis the foul-weather fiends who make it!
That sound of rusty hinges, groaning doors,
Is they who beat up fog upon the moors,
“And ride the winds that homestead-roofs uptear
And bear afar. Ha, Moon! What ails you there?
What dire indignity hath made you scowl
So red and large o’er Baux? ’Ware the dog’s howl!
Yon dog can snap you like a cake, be sure!
He minds the filthy Demon of the Sewer!
“Now see the holm-oaks bend their heads like ferns,
And see that flame that leaps and writhes and burns.
It is St. Elmo’s. And that ringing sound
Of rapid hoofs upon the stony ground
Is the wild huntsman riding over Crau.”
Here hoarse and breathless paused the witch of Baux.
But straight thereafter, “Cover ears and eyes,
For the black lamb is bleating!” wildly cries.
“That baaing lambkin!” Vincen dared to say;
But she, “Hide eyes and ears without delay!
Woe to the stumbler here! Sambuco’s69 Path
Less peril than the black horn’s passage hath.
“Tender his bleating, as you hear, and soft:
Thereby he lures to their destruction oft
The heedless Christians who attend his moan.
To them he shows the sheen of Herod’s throne,
The gold of Judas, and the fatal spot
Where Saracens made fast the golden goat.
“Her they may milk till death, to hearts’ content.
But, when they call for their last sacrament,
The black lamb only buts them savagely.
And yet, so evil is the time,” quoth she,
“Unnumbered greedy souls that bait will seize,
Burn incense unto gold, then die as these!”
Now, while the white hen gave three piercing crows,
The eerie guide did to her guests disclose
The thirteenth grotto, and the last; and lo!
A huge, wide chimney and a hearth aglow,
And seven black tom-cats warming round the flame;
And, hanging from a hook above the same,
An iron cauldron of gigantic size,
And underneath two fire-brands, dragon-wise
Belching blue flame. “Is it with these you brew,
Grandmother,” asked the lad, “your magic stew?”
“With these, my son. They’re branches of wild vine:
No better logs for burning be than mine.”
“Well, call them branches if it be your taste;
But—but I may not jest. Haste, mother, haste!”
Now, midway of the grotto, they descry
A large, round table of red porphyry;
And, radiating from this wondrous place,
Lower than root of oak or mountain base,
Infinite aisles whose gleaming columns cluster
Like pendant icicles in shape and lustre.
These are the far-famed galleries of the fays,
Here evermore a hazy brightness plays,
Temples and shining palaces are here,
Majestic porticoes their fronts uprear,
And many a labyrinth and peristyle
The like whereof was never seen erewhile,
Even in Corinth or in Babylon.
Yet let a fairy breathe, and these are gone!
And here, like flickering rays of light, disperse
Through he dim walks of this serene Chartreuse,
The fairies with their knights long since enchanted.
Peace to the aisles by their fair presence haunted!
And now the witch was ready. First of all,
She lifted high her hands, then let them fall,
While Vincen had like holy Lawrence lain
Upon the porphyry table, mute with pain.
And mightily the spirit of the crone
Appeared to work within her; and as grown
She seemed, when, rising to her height anew,
She plunged her ladle in the boiling stew
That overflowed the cauldron in the heat,
While all the cats arose and ringed her feet,
And, with her left hand, unto Vincen’s breast
Applied the scalding drops with solemn zest,
Gazing intently on him where he lay,
Until the cruel hurt was charmed away;
And all the while, “The Lord is born, is dead,
Is risen, shall rise again,” she murmurèd.
Last on the quivering flesh the cross she made
Thrice with her toe-nail; as in forest glade
A tigress fiercely claws her fallen prey.
And now her speech maketh tumultuous way
To where the dim gates of the future are.
“Yea, he shall rise! I see him now afar
“Amid the stones and thistles of the hill,
His forehead bleeding heavily. And still
Over the stones and briers he makes his way,
Bowed by his cross. Where is Veronica
To wipe the blood? And him of Cyrene
To stay him when he fainteth—where is he?
“And where the weeping Maries, hair dishevelled?
All gone! And rich and poor, before him levelled,
Gaze while he mounts; and ‘Who is this,’ one saith,
Who climbs with shouldered beam, and never stayeth?’
O carnal sons of men! The Cross-bearer
Is unto you but as a beaten cur.
“O cruel Jews! Wherefore so fiercely bite you
The hands that feed, and lick the hands that smite you?
Receive the fruit of your foul deeds you must.
Your precious gems shall crumble into dust,
And that you deemed fair pulse or wholesome wheat
Shall turn to ashes even while you eat,
“And scare your very hunger. Woe is me!
Rivers that foam o’er carrion-heaps I see,
And swords and lances in tumultuous motion.
Peace to thy stormy waves, thou vexèd Ocean!
Shall Peter’s ancient bark withstand the shock?
Alas, it strikes upon the senseless rock!
“Nay, but there cometh One with power to save!
Fisher of men, he quells the rebel wave.
A fair new bark the Rhône is entering now:
She hath God’s cross uplifted on her prow,
Rainbow divine! Eternal clemency!
Another land, another sun, I see!
“Dance olive-pickers, where the fruit is shining;
Drink reapers, on the barley-sheaves reclining!
Revealed by signs so many, God,” she said,
“Is in his holy temple worshippèd.”
And, stretching forth her hand, the witch of Baux
Pointed the
