Page:TheBirth of the War-God.djvu/15

Rh There magic herbs that pour their streaming light From mossy caverns through the darksome night, Lend a bright torch to guide the trembling maid Where waits her lover in the leafy shade. Yet hath he caves within whose inmost cells In tranquil rest the murky Darkness dwells, And, like the night-bird, spreads the brooding wing Safe in the shelter of the Mountain-king, Unscorned, uninjured—for the good and great Spurn not the suppliant for his lowly state.

Why lingers yet the Heavenly Minstrel's bride On the wild path that skirts side?— Cold to her tender feet—oh, cold—the snow, Why are her steps—her homeward steps—so slow? 'Tis that her slender ancles scarce can bear The weight of beauty that impedes her there; Each rounded limb, and all her peerless charms, That broad full bosom, those voluptuous arms. E'en the wild kine that roam his forests bring The royal symbols to the Mountain-king,— With tails outspread, their bushy streaming hair Flashes like moonlight through the parted air; What monarch's fan more glorious might there be, More meet to wave before such majesty? There, when the Nymphs, within the cave's recess, In modest fear their gentle limbs undress. Descending clouds hang fondly round to shade The blushing beauties of each mountain maid. With pearly dew-drops loads the gale, That waves the dark pines towering o'er the vale,