Poetry Visualized - ORFEO AND ETAIN 4

ORFEO AND ETAIN 4

xi And when sweet juices ran from lip to chin And waists felt fuller than a bursting sack They piled up leaves and heather to begin A morning nap. Etain lay on her back Each finger yet to lick, her lips to smack. In time her lace-like lashes veiled her eyes. They slept. Until at noon that raven black Descended on her crown of braids. Its cries Woke all the maids! Alas, Etain did not arise! xii No trick they tried could shoo the bird away Till Orfeo appeared (who meanwhile planned His lazy wife to summon back to day With tender kisses, each a reprimand). He ran to her. Faint life flowed to her hand! So pale the lips that had been stained so red! He told the maids the Steward should command A doctor to be summoned to her bed. The King, with her held in his arms, the orchard fled. xiii Her nurse sat with him by her bed all night. "My lord, I reared her from a babe, you know. But when I raised her lids. Oh! Such a sight To see those brilliant eyes, that used to glow Now stare at me as if I were her foe! I wonder what she did to cause such strife?" He cried, "It's not her fault!" said Orfeo To waned Etain, "I'd gladly give my life If doing so might aid you. Oh what ails you, wife?" xiv But she said not a word. She lay entranced. All day and night and day they lingered near. At dusk without a word the Steward's glance Bade him retreat where none might overhear. "The raven in an omen that I fear. Perhaps the Banshee came thus to foretell Her death, or worse, She seeks Etain to rear In witch's ways, shape-shifting, curse and spell." Said trembling Orfeo, "You mean she won't get well?" xv "Friend, listen! There is hope if we think fast! Remember here is not where you were born. Your southern home shares not our elfin past. Perhaps the raven's presence was to warn Us of the Faerie King, whose lust and scorn We dread. Though he can't kill, 'tis he who's blamed Whenever one who hears his hunting horn Or spies his steeds or birds is then seen maimed By hounds or sinks 'neath waves or vanishes in flames. xvi "You see to us death is a fitting end To well-lived years. It frees the lone and ill. War's death is fame! But omens oft' portend To men the Faerie King seeks for their skill Or maids his lust would bend to please his will, That they are sure to meet some bloody fate, Unless his dread demand they do fulfill. And so I think it wise if we both wait, For she'll fare worse should she his bidding violate." xvii But all of this seemed strange to Orfeo. Not since he lost his ship and crew at sea And felt the tugging, sinking undertow Had he felt so alone and lost. Yet she Had found him, fed him too. Such Charity!