Of a human creature had rustled I sucked in the noontide splendor, Or yawning, panting, and dreaming, And unsheathed from my cushioned feet My curving claws, and stretched me, And wandered my mate to greet. We toyed in the amber moonlight, Upon the warm flat sand, And struck at each other our massive arms How powerful he was and grand! His yellow eyes flashed fiercely As he crouched and gazed at me, With a wild triumphant cry, And his teeth in the swelling folds of my neck At times, in our play, drew blood. Often another suitor For I was flexile and fair- Till his blood was drained by the desert; To breathe him a vast half-hour. Ere they had time to shrink. We drank their blood and crushed them, That was a life to live for! Not this weak human life, With its frivolous bloodless passions, Its poor and petty strife ! Come to my arms, my hero! The shadows of twilight grow, Take me with triumph and power, THE OTHER WORLD. It lies around us like a cloud, Its gentle breezes fan our cheek; Its gentle voice doth whisper love, Sweet hearts around us throb and beat, The silence, awful, sweet, and calm, So thin, so soft, so sweet, they glide, So near to press they seem, Thy lull us gently to our rest, They melt into our dream. And in the hush of rest they bring How lovely and how sweet a pass To close the eye, and close the ear, Scarce knowing if we wake or sleep, To feel all evil sink away, All sorrow and all care. Sweet souls around us! watch us still! Press nearer to our side; Let death between us be as naught, Your joy be the reality, Our suffering life the dream. MARY AT THE CROSS. "Now there stood by the cross of Jesus his Mother." O wondrous Mother! since the dawn of time Poor was that home in simple Nazareth O desert lily, passed thy childhood's hour. The world knew not the tender, serious maiden, Which the o'ershadowing God alone might view. And then it came, that message from the highest, And with thy life the Life of worlds was blended. What visions then of future glory filled thee, The chosen mother of the King unknown, Mother fulfiller of all prophecy Which through dim ages wondering seers had shown! Well did thy dark eye kindle, thy deep soul Rise into billows, and thy heart rejoice; Then woke the poet's fire, the prophet's song, Tuned with strange burning words thy timid voice. Then, in dark contrast, came the lowly manger, Then to the temple bearing, hark again What strange conflicting tones of prophecy Breathe o'er the child, foreshadowing words of joy, High triumph blent with bitter agony! |