THE LION'S RIDE

WHAT! wilt thou bind him fast with a chain?
Wilt bind the king of the cloudy sands?

WHAT

Idiot fool! he has burst from thy hands and bands,

And speeds like Storm through his far domain.

See! he crouches down in the sedge,

By the water's edge,

Making the startled sycamore boughs to quiver!
Gazelle and giraffe, I think, will shun that river.

Not so! The curtain of evening falls,

And the Caffre, mooring his light canoe

To the shore, glides down through the hushed karroo, And the watch-fires burn in the Hottentot kraals,

And the antelope seeks a bed in the bush

Till dawn shall blush,

And the zebra stretches his limbs by the tinkling fountain, And the changeful signals fade from the Table Mountain.

Now look through the dusk! What seest thou now?
Seest such a tall giraffe! She stalks,

All majesty, through the desert walks,

In search of water to cool her tongue and brow.
From tract to tract of the limitless waste

Behold her haste!

Till, bowing her long neck down, she buries her face in The reeds, and kneeling, drinks from the river's basin.

But look again! look! see once more

Those globe-eyes glare! The gigantic reeds Lie cloven and trampled like puniest weeds,— The lion leaps on the drinker's neck with a roar! Oh, what a racer' Can any behold,

'Mid the housings of gold

In the stables of kings, dyes half so splendid
As those on the brindled hide of yon wild animal
blended?

Greedily fleshes the lion his teeth

In the breast of his writhing prey; around
Her neck his loose brown mane is wound.

Hark, that hollow cry! She springs up from beneath
And in agony flies over plains and heights.
See, how she unites,

Even under such monstrous and torturing trammel,
With the grace of the leopard, the speed of the camel!

She reaches the central moon-lighted plain,

That spreadeth around all bare and wide;
Meanwhile, adown her spotted side
The dusky blood-gouts rush like rain-

And her woeful eyeballs, how they stare

On the void of air!

Yet on she flies-on, on; for her there is no retreating; And the desert can hear the heart of the doomed one beat

ing!

And lo! A stupendous column of sand,

A sand-spout out of that sandy ocean, upcurls

Behind the pair in eddies and whirls;

Most like some colossal brand,

Or wandering spirit of wrath

On his blasted path,

Or the dreadful pillar that lighted the warriors and women Of Israel's land through the wilderness of Yemen.

And the vulture, scenting a coming carouse,

Sails, hoarsely screaming, down the sky;

The bloody hyena, be sure, is nigh,

Fierce pillager, he, of the charnel-house!

The panther, too, who strangles the Cape-Town sheep
As they lie asleep,

Athirst for his share in the slaughter, follows;

While the gore of their victim spreads like a pool in the sandy hollows!

She reels, but the king of the brutes bestrides

His tottering throne to the last: with might He plunges his terrible claws in the bright And delicate cushions of her sides.

Yet hold! -fair play!- she rallies again!

In vain, in vain!

Her struggles but help to drain her life-blood faster;

She staggers, gasps, and sinks at the feet of her slayer

and master!

She staggers, she falls; she shall struggle no more!
The death-rattle slightly convulses her throat;
Mayest look thy last on that mangled coat,
Besprent with sand, and foam, and gore!

Adieu! The orient glimmers afar,
And the morning-star

Anon will rise over Madagascar brightly.-
So rides the lion in Afric's deserts nightly.

REST IN THE BELOVED

(RUHE IN DER GELIEBTEN)

From Lyrics and Ballads of Heine and Other German Poets.'

Copyright

1892, by Frances Hellman. Reprinted by permission of G. P. Putnam's Sons, publishers, New York.

H, HERE forever let me stay, love!

Here let my resting-place e'er be;

And both thy tender palms then lay, love,

Upon my hot brow soothingly.

Here at thy feet, before thee kneeling,

In heavenly rapture let me rest,
And close my eyes, bliss o'er me stealing,
Within thine arms, upon thy breast.

I'll open them but to the glances

That from thine own in radiance fall;
The look that my whole soul entrances,
O thou who art my life, my all!
I'll open them but at the flowing

Of burning tears that upward swell,
And joyously, without my knowing.
From under drooping lashes well.

Thus am I meek, and kind, and lowly,
And good and gentle evermore;

I have thee now I'm blessed wholly;
I have thee- -now my yearning's o'er.
By thy sweet love intoxicated,

Within thine arms I'm lulled to rest,
And every breath of thine is freighted

With slumber songs that soothe my breast.

A life renewed each seems bestowing;
Oh, thus to lie day after day,
And hearken with a blissful glowing

To what each other's heart-beats say!
Lost in our love, entranced, enraptured,

We disappear from time and space;
We rest and dream; our souls lie captured
Within oblivion's sweet embrace.

OH, LOVE SO LONG AS LOVE THOU CANST

H, LOVE So long as love thou canst!

Oh, love so long thy soul have need!
The hour will come, the hour will come,

When by the grave thy heart shall bleed!

And let thy heart forever glow

And throb with love, and hold love's heat,

So long on earth another heart

Shall echo to its yearning beat.

Oh, love so long thy soul have need!

The hour will come, the hour will come,
When by the grave thy heart shall bleed!

Thou kneelest down upon the grave,
And sink'st in agony thine eyes,-
They never more the dead shall see,-
The silent church-yard hears thy sighs.

Thou mourn'st:-"Oh, look upon this heart,
That here doth weep upon this mound!
Forgive me if I caused thee pain,-

O God, it was not meant to wound!"

But he, he sees and hears thee not;

He comes not, he can never know: The mouth that kissed thee once says not, "Friend, I forgave thee long ago!"

He did forgive thee long ago,

Though many a hot tear bitter fell For thee and for thy angry word;

But still he slumbers soft and well!

Oh, love so long as love thou canst!

Oh, love so long thy soul have need! The hour will come, the hour will come,

When by the grave thy heart shall bleed!

Translation of Dr. Edward Breck.