Upon their hold insisting,

He struggles to maintain his difficult seat. Seeking in vain with that strange Power to vie, Their doubled speed the affrighted Dragons try. Forced in a stream from whence was no retreat, Strong as they are, behold them whirled along, Headlong, with useless pennons, through the sky.

What Power was that, which, with resistless might Foil'd the dread magic thus of Lorrinite?

'Twas all-commanding Nature.. They were here Within the sphere of the adamantine rocks Which gird Mount Meru round, as far below That heavenly height where Ganges hath its birth Involv'd in clouds and light,

So far above its roots of ice and snow.

On..on they roll,..rapt headlong they roll on ;.. The lost canoe, less rapidly than this,

Down the precipitous stream is whirl'd along

To the brink of Niagara's dread abyss.

On..on.. they roll, and now, with shivering shock,

Are dash'd against the rock that girds the Pole. Down from his shatter'd mail the unhappy Soul Is dropt,.. ten thousand thousand fathoms down,... Till in an ice-rift, 'mid the eternal snow,

Foul Arvalan is stopt. There let him howl, Groan there,.. and there, with unavailing moan,

For aid on his Almighty Father call.

All human sounds are lost

Amid those deserts of perpetual frost,

Old Winter's drear domain,

Beyond the limits of the living World,

Beyond Kehama's reign.

Of utterance and of motion soon bereft,

Dante's
Salum

Frozen to the ice-rock, there behold him lie,
Only the painful sense of Being left,

A Spirit who must feel, and cannot die,
Bleaching and bare beneath the polar sky.

XII.

THE SACRIFICE COMPLEATED.

O ye who, by the Lake

On Meru Mount, partake

The joys which Heaven hath destin'd for the blest,

Swift, swift, the moments fly,

The silent hours go by,

And

ye

must leave your dear abode of rest.

O wretched Man, prepare

Again thy Curse to bear!

Prepare, O wretched Maid, for farther woe!

The fatal hour draws near,

When Indra's heavenly sphere

Must own the Tyrant of the World below.
To-day the hundredth Steed,

At Seeva's shrine, must bleed,
The dreadful sacrifice is full to-day;
Nor man nor God hath power,

At this momentous hour,

Again to save the Swerga from his sway.

Fresh woes, O Maid divine,

Fresh trials must be thine;

And what must thou, Ladurlad, yet endure !

But let

your hearts be strong,

And bear ye bravely on,

For Providence is good, and virtue is secure.

They, little deeming that the fatal day Was come, beheld where, through the morning sky, A Ship of Heaven drew nigh.

Onward they watch it steer its steady flight;

Till, wondering, they espy

Old Casyapa, the Sire of Gods, alight.

But, when Ereenia saw the Sire appear, At that unwonted and unwelcome sight His heart receiv'd a sudden shock of fear: Thy presence doth its doleful tidings tell, O Father! cried the startled Glendoveer, The dreadful hour is near! I know it well! Not for less import would the Sire of Gods Forsake his ancient and august abodes.

Even so, serene the immortal Sire replies;
Soon like an earthquake will ye feel the blow
Which consummates the mighty sacrifice:
And this World, and its Heaven, and all therein
Are then Kehama's. To the second ring
Of these seven Spheres, the Swerga-King,
Even now, prepares for flight

Beyond the circle of the conquer'd world,
Beyond the Rajah's might.

Ocean, that clips this inmost of the Spheres,

And girds it round with everlasting roar,
Set like a gem appears