Canto Xv

Hulking and enormous cliffs Of deformed and twisted shapes Look on me like petrified Monsters of primeval times.

Strange! the dingy clouds above Drift like doubles bred of mist, Like some silly counterfeit Of these savage shapes of stone.

In the distance roars the fall; Through the fir trees howls the wind! 'Tis a sound implacable And as fatal as despair.

Lone and dreadful lies the waste And the black daws sit in swarms On the bleached and rotten pines, Flapping with their weary wings.

At my side Lascaro strides Pale and silent--I myself Must like sorry madness look By dire Death accompanied.

'Tis a wild and desert place. Curst perchance? I seem to see On the crippled roots of yonder Tree a crimson smear of blood.

This tree shades a little hut Cowering humbly in the earth, And the wretched roof of thatch Pleads for pity in your sight.

Cagots are the denizens Of this hut--the last remains Of a tribe which sunk in darkness Bides its bitter destiny.

In the heart of every Basque You will find a rooted hate Of the Cagots. 'Tis a foul Relic of the days of faith.

In the minster at Bagnères You may see a narrow grille, Once the door, the sexton told me, Which the herded Cagots used.

In that day all other gates Were forbidden them. They crawled Like to thieves into the blest House of God to worship there.

There these wretched beings sat On their lowly stools and prayed, Parted as by leprosy, From all other worshippers.

But the hallowed lamps of this Later century burn bright, And their light destroys the black Shadows of that cruel age!

While Lascaro waited there, Entered I the lonely hut Of the Cagot, and I clasped Straight his hand in brotherhood.

Likewise did I kiss his child Which unto the shrivelled breast Of his wife clung fast and sucked Like some spider sick and starved.