Page:The Poets and Poetry of the West.djvu/557

 1850-60.] JOHN G. DUNN. 541 When up from the ravine an image all dread, Through vapor and midnight w^as borne ; Deep thunder awoke at his horrible tread, And his breath was the terror of storm I A forest of pines was his diadem huge. And a mantle of fume girt him round. And he crumbled the crags in his iron- strong clutch, As he came up the steep with a bound ! The Brigand stood pale in the tottering wood; His spirit was swimming in fear ; Ajnd his pulse was all still in its curdle of blood, As the giant's voice fell on his ear: " I've watched thee for years in thy bloody domain ; I've watched thee in murders all foul; And I've gathered together the souls of thy slain, From the gloom of their shadow^y goal! " So he stretched his huge arms through the gathering clouds — Wild vistas whirled off through the gloom — And the murdered host came with their blood -dripping shrouds, In a horrible pomp from the tomb ! '• I am the Spirit of Earthquake," he screamed in his ire, " And hell's rocky doorway I keep ! " So he stamped the broad earth till with thunder and fire Her surface gaped horrid and deep. Ajid he heaved the huge mount in his iron-knit grasp. From his base in the tottering world. And glacier and forest, with thunderous crash. To the earth's boiling center were hurled. The Brigand, high hurtled through tempest and shock, Tojipled down to the regions of doom. Whilst high o'er his corse rose a chaos of rocks, And the slaughtered train melted in gloom. A CHILD'S THOUGHT. I HAD a little sister once, With mild blue eyes and curling hair. One night we stood and gazed upon The lightning's wild and fitful glare. And as each wild, chaotic cloud Went wreathing up the startled sky, And frantic thunders echoed loud, And chain-fires lit the vault on high. She turned her little eyes on me. And pointing to the lightning, said : " The Good Man's looking down to see If all good children are in bed ! " Then trembling with the childish thought. She quickly breathed her little prayer. And 'neath the pictured curtain sought Concealment from the lightning's glare. How sadly memory steals away To joys that live alone in youth. When young hopes sang their roundelay, And fiction wore the hue of truth ! But oh, the selfish world hath taught My broken heart another tale — How virtue's sold and honor bought, And fools upheld while good men fail. 'Tis well, alas ! thou'rt gone beyond This leprous world — thou wert too mild For selfish passion's pompous round — 'Tis well thou'rt in thy grave, sweet child f When glares the lightning-torch on high. And storms arouse the cloudy deep. The Good Man seeth from the sky That one good child hath gone to sleep !