Shyly in the mountain-cleft Was the Troglodyte concealed; And the roving Nomad left, Desert lying, each broad field. With the javelin, with the bow, Strode the hunter through the land; To the hapless stranger woe, Billow-cast on that wild strand! When, in her sad wanderings lost, Seeking traces of her child, Ceres hailed the dreary coast, Ah, no verdant plain then smiled! That she here with trust may stay, None vouchsafes a sheltering roof; Not a temple's columns gay Give of godlike worship proof. Fruit of no propitious ear Bids her to the pure feast fly; On the ghastly altars here Human bones alone e'er dry. Far as she might onward rove, Misery found she still in all, And within her soul of love, Sorrowed she o'er man's deep fall. "Is it thus I find the man To whom we our image lend, Whose fair limbs of noble span Upward towards the heavens ascend? Laid we not before his feet Earth's unbounded godlike womb? Yet upon his kingly seat Wanders he without a home?" "Does no god compassion feel? Will none of the blissful race, With an arm of miracle, Raise him from his deep disgrace? In the heights where rapture reigns Pangs of others ne'er can move; Yet man's anguish and man's pains My tormented heart must prove." "So that a man a man may be, Let him make an endless bond With the kind earth trustingly, Who is ever good and fond To revere the law of time, And the moon's melodious song Who, with silent step sublime, Move their sacred course along." And she softly parts the cloud That conceals her from the sight; Sudden, in the savage crowd, Stands she, as a goddess bright. There she finds the concourse rude In their glad feast revelling, And the chalice filled with blood As a sacrifice they bring. But she turns her face away, Horror-struck, and speaks the while "Bloody tiger-feasts ne'er may Of a god the lips defile, He needs victims free from stain, Fruits matured by autumn's sun; With the pure gifts of the plain Honored is the Holy One!" And she takes the heavy shaft From the hunter's cruel hand; With the murderous weapon's haft Furrowing the light-strown sand,-- Takes from out her garland's crown, Filled with life, one single grain, Sinks it in the furrow down, And the germ soon swells amain. And the green stalks gracefully Shoot, ere long, the ground above, And, as far as eye can see, Waves it like a golden grove. With her smile the earth she cheers, Binds the earliest sheaves so fair, As her hearth the landmark rears,-- And the goddess breathes this prayer: