her hands,
    Which, as she reached the platform, she held forth
    With a most winning, most beseeching air. 
    Amazed at such presumption, on the maid,
    Queen OENE’s brow darkened in sudden wrath.

    “Warriors! do ye permit this sight!” she cried.

    The lightest breath of that majestic voice
    Had ever been with prompt obedience met;
    But now, though hoarse and deep as surging sea,
    No spear was lowered and no arrow bent. 
    The Pole-Queen raised aloft her pale right arm;—­
    She stamped her haughty feet upon the pave,—­
    And all the Powers of the vast Frigid Zone
    Were in commotion terrible:—­the earth
    Shook till the people reeled, and reeling, fell;
    The circle of white gems about the throne
    Threw off strange darts of light which smote like steel: 
    Swift whirling round with inconceivable speed
    A host of Northern Lights sprang into air,
    And, battling round their Queen, confused and wild,
    Blent with each other in the fierce affray. 
    The frightened stars paled in the distant sky;
    And spectres rushed on shadowy steeds of grey
    Down the flushed firmament; and shining spears,
    Held by invisible hands, whirled high o’erhead. 
    Pale mortals in the far off Torrid Zone
    Saw wonders in the Northern air with fear;
    And when an inward trembling shook the Pole
    Central through all the earth, in distant lands
    The mountains belched forth fire on fated cities.

    Behind the throne suddenly arose a shower,
    As ’twere of phosphorescent flakes of snow,
    Straight upward like a fountain, and then fell
    In glowing sparks wide over all the land. 
    The surging sea dashed its bewildered waves
    Against the foreheads of gigantic bergs,
    Walking, like drunken men, the noisy deep. 
    Anon the Pole was calm.  Uninjured stood
    The mortal maid before the great OENE;
    While near, a thousand prostrate subjects lay
    Slain by an angry sovereign disobeyed.

    “Queen of this strange and spectral land, wilt thou
    Not show thy favor to a lonesome child
    Come wandering all this way, impelled by love? 
    Not hate, ambition, curiosity,
    Have led me to thy fair and fearful presence. 
    I have no power, am but a weak young girl;
    And chance, alone, has thus revealed to me
    The mystic glory of this unknown world,
    With thy bright self and this enchanted isle,—­
    This pearl upon the bosom of the deep
    So palely, purely fair—­undreamed of beauty! 
    Love is the sole excuse which I can urge
    For my intrusion”—­here the stranger blushed,
    Drooping in silence her embarrassed head.