Still with his great heart bursting asunder Still thro' the night he struggled and bled; Suddenly round him the pack's low thunder Surged, the hounds that his own hand fed Fastened in his throat, with red jaws drinking Deep!--for a moment his antlered pride Soared o'er their passionate seas, then, sinking, Fell for the fangs to divide. XIX _Light of beauty, O, perfect in whiteness, Softly suffused thro' the years' dark veils, Kindling them all as they pass by her brightness, Filling our hearts with her old-world tales, She, the unchanging, shepherds their changes, Bids them mingle and form and flow, Flowers and flocks and the great hill-ranges Follow her cry and go._ XX Still, in the violets, lazily dreaming Young Diana, the huntress, lies: One white side thro' the violets gleaming Heaves and sinks with her golden sighs; One white breast like a diamond crownet Couched in a velvet casket glows, One white arm, tho' the violets drown it, Thrills their purple with rose. LUCIFER'S FEAST (A EUROPEAN NIGHTMARE.) To celebrate the ascent of man, one gorgeous night Lucifer gave a feast. Its world-bewildering light Danced in Belshazzar's tomb, and the old kings dead and gone Felt their dust creep to jewels in crumbling Babylon. Two nations were His guests--the top and flower of Time, The fore-front of an age which now had learned to climb The slopes where Newton knelt, the heights that Shakespeare trod, The mountains whence Beethoven rolled the voice of God. Lucifer's feasting-lamps were like the morning stars, But at the board-head shone the blood-red lamp of Mars. League upon glittering league, white front and flabby face Bent o'er the groaning board. Twelve brave men droned the grace; But with instinctive tact, in courtesy to their Host, Omitted God the Son and God the Holy Ghost, And to the God of Battles raised their humble prayers. Then, then, like thunder, all the guests drew up their chairs. By each a drinking-cup, yellow, almost, as gold. (_The blue eye-sockets gave the thumbs a good firm hold_) Adorned the flowery board. Could even brave men shrink? Why if the cups _were_ skulls, they had red wine to drink! And had not each a napkin, white and peaked and proud, Waiting to wipe his mouth? A napkin? Nay, a shroud! This was a giant's feast, on hell's imperial scale. The blades glistened.