Page:A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields.djvu/237

Thus spake the god,—and in that very time
Vanished the victim, in some way unknown,
And on the altar I,—I found myself
Stretched in its place, awaiting for the axe
Suspended. There I lay with blanching cheek,
Paler and paler as the minutes passed,
Until a pillar opening, out there came
A deadly serpent. Crawling, it advanced,
Drawing along the flags its glittering rings,
Proud of their rich resplendence, moving slow,
And slower still, as certain of its prey.
It neared—it rose—and on my body frail
Coiled its chill slimy almost frozen length.
My hair stood up with fright, my flesh
Crept with the horror of that humid clasp;
My voice was strangled in my arid throat;
I tried to fly—I could not even move—
Fixed with wild terror and deep loathing there,
Spell-bound and fascinated. Like an arm
Of flexile iron winding round and round
The hideous monster wrapt me in its folds,
Tightening his grasp obdurate, more and more;
Then raised its head, from whence a fiery tongue,
Keen as a glave, like lightning darted forth.
It fixed its eyes, like torches, on my eyes,
It breathed upon my face an odour strange,
An odour of the tomb. The fiery tongue,
Tasting in hope beforehand human blood,
Ran o'er my frame still motionless and cold,
Meditating the deadly wound. Then came
A rush of darkness, and I saw no more,
Nor felt I aught. . . . My torturer had fled,
Leaving a sword deep-buried in my heart.
And wonder new! The rapid streaming drops