So fell the whisper; and as one who hears And does, the stiff-necked man obsequious bent His strong will to a stronger, and returned, And gave command to heap within his house His stored up wealth—yea, all things that were his— Borne from his ships and granaries. It was done. Then filled he his huge hall with resinous beams Seasoned for far sea-voyage, and the ribs Of ocean-sundering vessels deep in sea; Which ended, to his topmost tower he clomb, And therein sat two days, with face to south, Clutching a brand; and oft through clenched teeth hissed, Hissed long, “Because I will to disbelieve.” But ere the second sunset two brief hours, Where comfortless leaned forth that western ridge Long patched with whiteness by half melted snows, There crept a gradual shadow. Soon the man Discerned its import. There they hung—he saw them— That company detested; hung as when Storm-boding cloud on mountain hangs half way Scarce moving, and in fear the shepherd cries, “Would that the worse were come!” So dread to him Those Heralds of fair Peace! He gazed upon them With blood-shot eyes; a moment passed: he stood Sole in his never festal hall, and flung His lighted brand into that pile far forth, And smiled that smile men feared to see, and turned, And issuing faced the circle of his serfs That wondering gathered round in thickening mass, Eyeing that unloved House. His place he chose Beside that blighted ash, fronting those towers Palled with red smoke, and muttered low, “So be it! Worse to be vassal to the man I hate,” With hueless lips. His whole white face that hour Was scorched; and blistered was the dead tree’s bark; Yet there he stood; and in that fiery light His life, no more triumphant, passed once more In underthought before him, while on spread The swift, contagious madness of that fire, And muttered thus, not knowing it, the man, “The mighty flame into itself takes all,” Mechanic iteration. Not alone Stood he that hour. The Demon of his House By him once more and closer than of old, Stood, whispering thus, “Thy game is now played out; Henceforth a byword art thou—rich in youth— Self-beggared in old age.” And as the wind Of that shrill whisper cut his listening soul, The blazing roof fell in on all his wealth, Hard-won, long-waited, wonder of his foes; And, loud as laughter from ten thousand fiends, Up rushed the fire. With arms outstretched he stood; Stood firm; then forward with a wild beast’s cry He dashed himself into that terrible flame, And vanished as a leaf.