Page:Zinzendorff and Other Poems.pdf/25

Rh To bind obedience. Eagerly they sought The abode of Zinzendorff. His lonely tent Rear'd its white bosom thro' embowering shades, As if some remnant of the wintry snow Did linger there. The earliest cluster'd grape Was in its purple flush,—and twilight's breath Betray'd a chill, prelusive of the sway Of sober autumn. Through a narrow chasm In his slight screen, glar'd the assassins' eyes, As when the fierce and fell hyena finds A fleshless carcase. Stern, and hard of heart! How can ye cleave the breast that thrills for you With generous sympathy? But what know they Of soft compunction?—train'd from youth to tear The scalp fresh bleeding from the tortur'd brain, To mock the victim, writhing at the stake, Or hurl the mother, with her wailing babe Into the wigwam's flame. Slow midnight came, In dark companionship with sullen storms, The red pine blazes in the old man's cave, And every moment mov'd with leaden feet, To him who trac'd it on the dial-plate Of mad impatience and unresting sin. At length, above the tempest's groan, is heard The sound of rushing steps. His blood-shot eyes Look'd fiery glad, as when a tiger marks The unwary traveller near his jungle draw. And as the mother of Herodias snatch'd The reeking charger, and the sever'd head Of John the Baptist,—so he thought to grasp