Till night be shamed of morn [_Ant._ 7.
Rings the Black Huntsman's horn
Through darkening deeps beneath the covering cloud, 260
Till all the wild beasts of the darkness hear;
Till the Czar quake, till Austria cower for fear,
Till the king breathe not, till the priest wax pale,
Till spies and slayers on seats of judgment quail,
Till mitre and cowl bow down
And crumble as a crown,
Till Cæsar driven to lair and hounded Pope
Reel breathless and drop heartless out of hope,
And one the uncleanest kinless beast of all
Lower than his fortune fall; 270
The wolfish waif of casual empire, born
To turn all hate and horror cold with scorn.

Yea, even at night's full noon [_Ep._ 7.
Light's birth-song brake in tune,
Spake, witnessing that with us one must be,
God; naming so by name
That priests have brought to shame
The strength whose scourge sounds on the smitten sea;
The mystery manifold of might
Which bids the wind give back to night the things of night. 280

Even God, the unknown of all time; force or thought, [_Str._ 8.
Nature or fate or will,
Clothed round with good and ill,
Veiled and revealed of all things and of nought,
Hooded and helmed with mystery, girt and shod