He devoureth the meat of many nations,
He absorbeth a vintage of scarlet.
Though my head be with the stars,
All the flowers of Earth are singing in mine ears.
Though my foot be planted on the sea-bed.
Yet is it shod with the thunder.
Sorrow for Earth Transient is passed away,
Pain of martyr'd splendour is no more.
They have left a fair child in my lap--
A lusty infant shouting to the dawn.
The Ogre of midnight hath perished.
He shivered in the glare of the mountain,
He screamed upon the sea-swords,
His bowels rushed out upon the lances of the Wind.
I shall look through the eye of Mountain,
I shall set in my scabbard the sabre of Sea,
And the spear of Wind shall be my hand's delight.
I shall not descend from the Hill.
Never go down to the Valley;
For I see, on a snow-crowned peak,
The glory of the Lord,
Erect as Orion,
Belted as to his blade.
But the roots of the mountains mingle with mist.
And raving skeletons run thereon.
I shall not go hence,
For here is my Priest,
Who hath broken me in the waters of Disdain.
Here is my Jester,
Who hath mended me on the wheels of Mirth.
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