And darkening with its miscreative spell

Light, glad and keen and splendid as the sword

Whose heft had known Othello's hand its lord,

Spake all the soul that hell drew back to greet

And felt its fire shrink shuddering from his feet.

Far off the darkness darkened, and recoiled,

And neared again, and triumphed: and the coiled

Colourless cloud and sea discoloured grew

Conscious of horror huge as heaven, and knew

Where Goneril's soul made chill and foul the mist,

And all the leprous life in Regan hissed.

Fierce homeless ghosts, rejected of the pit,

From hell to hell of storm fear watched them flit.

[Pg 156]

About them and before, the dull grey gloom

Shuddered, and heaven seemed hateful as the tomb

That shrinks from resurrection; and from out

That sullen hell which girt their shades about

The nether soul that lurks and lowers within

Man, made of dust and fire and shame and sin,

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