Rare tints which they had caught just as the Moon
    Peered o’er the shoulder of the mighty Thug.—­
    Those dwelling in the caverns of the sea
    Brought up the gayest jewels they could find,
    And pearls from underneath their low-based bergs
    Deep in the green waves, that, with thunderous sound,
    Did lull the giants of the North to sleep.

    There came, as time rolled by, from the far verge
    Of her vast realm, the rugged guardian ghouls,
    Stationed in fortresses and waging war
    On all encroachers from the hated South. 
    These had wild forms and gaunt; their dress was rude—­
    Skins of the white bear fastened to their loins. 
    They bore long, glistening spears, and deadly clubs
    Wrenched from the spines of monsters of the sea. 
    Their gifts were rude as they, and yet their Queen
    Unbent the radiant quiet of her brow,
    Gazing with favor on these proofs of valor. 
    Tales of achievements dread, of battles, deaths,
    Had they to speak, while, with pleased ear intent,
    Their sovereign listened.

                                One warrior ghoul
    With crispy locks and frosty eyes, and breath
    Chiller than death’s,—­naked, as scorning e’en
    To wear the trophies of his fierce renown—­
    Before the Presence stood, and told in haste,—­
    As half impatient of the wish to boast,
    Yet proud to serve so well—­how he was called
    WOLE, guardian of old Thug;—­how from the South
    Came, ploughing slowly through the unwilling sea,
    A ship, crowded with mortals from that land;
    How, boldly, in defiance of commands
    Sent out by skirmishing Frosts, they still drew near,
    Passing the outer line of her domains;
    Daring to come, with their invading eyes,
    Where never mortals else had looked and lived. 
    He told,—­and here he glanced, upon his friends,
    Eyes of bright scorn—­how the imperious ship
    Passed safely Tug and Dor, though all the guards
    Shot barbs of ice, and filled the air with fine,
    Invisible needles, piercing their pained flesh,
    And tore their stiffening sails with sharp-teethed winds;
    How, still, the ship pressed on where He kept watch,
    Ready to do new service for his Queen: 
    How, as it closer came, he fixed his eyes
    Relentlessly upon it, till nor hand,
    Nor foot, nor eyelid of the fated crew
    Had power to stir, nor even the sails to flap,
    While banded winds which he sent forth, still drove
    The doomed ones onward to the eager shore,
    Where every soul had perished, one by one.

    “Thou hast done well, old WOLE,” Queen OENE said.