Pestilence
She walks alone,—her bloated face unveiled
Above the glitter of her serpent's cloak,—
And by the slimy pool she makes her pause,
Where dark, unholy things the squatted toads do croak.
She haunts the shade where gnarléd trunks reveal
Their tortured hideousness in every part,—
To breathe the sickly vapors that arise,
Where damp and rottenness have eaten out the heart.
And where her foot hath pressed, the long, dank grass
Shakes with a noisome, chill, infectious breath;
And in the dark lagoon, the shivering owl,
Adown the night, winds out her clarion greeting, “Death!”
The song is hushed, within the cypress swamp,
And bird and butterfly flit to and fro,
In drooping sadness, for there's none may thrive,
But cold and slimy things, that on the belly go!
Lo! where a fair Arcadian dream had sprung,
The grim form halts, to taint the spicy breeze,
To give the black kiss, touch with ashen blight
The golden fruitage of a new Hesperides.
Above her head, hoarse swing her castanets,
The trophies of a thousand reptile parts;
She comes, with horrid reel and thirst unslaked,
To press the red wine from a thousand human hearts!
She bends with gloating leer, upon the hosts
All fallen, where her charnels grim, arise,
To pour her clinging dews in death distilled,
That with their horrid stenches cry unto the skies.
All through the night the dead car rattles o'er
The same harsh requiem on the stony street;
All through the day the dead move on, move on,
Above the shuffling of the bearers' faltering feet.
Nor latch, nor bolt, nor lock, nor bar can stay
The fevered hand, that seeks a sacrifice,—
Nor human love, all bared and bleeding, cheat
The vengeful, loathsome priestess of her chosen prize!
Ruin and chaos,—chaos, dearth and death!
The blade of fear falls broadly over all—
That shining steel that strips the souls of men—
To brand in very nakedness the great and small!
The priestess must be slain! Yea, human hearts,
Cry unto Heaven, wait not, cry again,
Yea, call afar for purifying flame,
As ye would cry, as ye would pray for cooling rain!
Above the glitter of her serpent's cloak,—
And by the slimy pool she makes her pause,
Where dark, unholy things the squatted toads do croak.
She haunts the shade where gnarléd trunks reveal
Their tortured hideousness in every part,—
To breathe the sickly vapors that arise,
Where damp and rottenness have eaten out the heart.
And where her foot hath pressed, the long, dank grass
Shakes with a noisome, chill, infectious breath;
And in the dark lagoon, the shivering owl,
Adown the night, winds out her clarion greeting, “Death!”
The song is hushed, within the cypress swamp,
And bird and butterfly flit to and fro,
In drooping sadness, for there's none may thrive,
But cold and slimy things, that on the belly go!
Lo! where a fair Arcadian dream had sprung,
The grim form halts, to taint the spicy breeze,
To give the black kiss, touch with ashen blight
The golden fruitage of a new Hesperides.
Above her head, hoarse swing her castanets,
The trophies of a thousand reptile parts;
She comes, with horrid reel and thirst unslaked,
To press the red wine from a thousand human hearts!
She bends with gloating leer, upon the hosts
All fallen, where her charnels grim, arise,
To pour her clinging dews in death distilled,
That with their horrid stenches cry unto the skies.
All through the night the dead car rattles o'er
The same harsh requiem on the stony street;
All through the day the dead move on, move on,
Above the shuffling of the bearers' faltering feet.
Nor latch, nor bolt, nor lock, nor bar can stay
The fevered hand, that seeks a sacrifice,—
Nor human love, all bared and bleeding, cheat
The vengeful, loathsome priestess of her chosen prize!
Ruin and chaos,—chaos, dearth and death!
The blade of fear falls broadly over all—
That shining steel that strips the souls of men—
To brand in very nakedness the great and small!
The priestess must be slain! Yea, human hearts,
Cry unto Heaven, wait not, cry again,
Yea, call afar for purifying flame,
As ye would cry, as ye would pray for cooling rain!
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