"So on the shadowy figures went Hurrying the loathed cloud before,-- Seeking an end of a fated path That went winding evermore. "Oh, Mother, that path was hideous,-- Long and ill and hideous-- And the way was so near to Shadowtown,-- Fairer to Shadowtown-- But the gold of my hair shall not light the way For anyone else to Shadowtown." Gray-eyed Marah of Shadowtown Turns away wearily, wearily Weaving her gold hair back and forth, Thus she sings, and drearily-- "Little Love, when you shall die, then so shall I, Ha, merrily! "Then let them put us in some deep spot Where one the growing of trees' roots hears And you at my heart, all wet with tears, All wet with tears. "Your wings are draggled and limp and wet,--Little Love,-- From what rainy land have you come, and far,-- Or who that has held you was crying so,-- Who, little Love--? My eyes are heavy and wet with tears Whose eyes besides are heavy so--? --Oh, little Love, how dumb you are!-- "Then, poor Love, that has lived in my heart Come, take my hand, we will go together, Hemlock boughs are full of sleep Out of the way of the weather. "For a cavern of cold gray mist is my heart Will not the hemlock boughs be better Over our feet and under our heads Keeping us from the weather?" Her gold hair duskily glints in her hands Marah of Shadowtown sings--"Together,-- You, little Love, and I, will go Into the Land of Pleasanter Weather." _Anne Throop._ DIES IRAE. Go fight your fight with Tagal and with Boer, Cheer in the lust of strength and brutal pride; Beat down the lamb to fatten up the fox, Shout victory o'er the prostrate shape of truth. Take cross and pike and gold and sophistry, To pray and prod and purchase, wheedle, wile; Stamp out the roses in a waste of weeds, Shout while the trembling voice of truth is hushed. Shatter with iron heel the poet's dream, The prophet's protest, and the ages' hope, Of brotherhood and light and love on earth-- Of peace and plenty and a perfect race. Tear down the fabric of ten thousand years, The world's best wisdom woven in its woe; Lift ruthless hands to rend the fairy fane That holds the heart hopes of humanity. Let loose greed, envy, lust, and avarice, The myriad throated dragon of desire; Let might rule, riot, batten on the meek, The tyranny of man o'er man seem right. Forget the Lord Christ smiled, forgave, and died; Frowned down every appeal to brutish strength; Bade man put up the sword, lest by the sword He perish; prayed evil might be paid by good.