LITERARY SQUABBLES AH God! the petty fools of rhyme And look'd at by the silent stars : Who hate each other for a song, And strain to make an inch of room On them and theirs and all things here: When one small touch of Charity Could lift them nearer God-like state Than if the crowded Orb should cry Like those who cried Diana great : And I too, talk, and lose the touch Is perfect stillness when they brawl. THE VICTIM I A PLAGUE upon the people fell, For on them brake the sudden foe; So thick they died the people cried, 'The Gods are moved against the land.' The Priest in horror about his altar To Thor and Odin lifted a hand : 'Help us from famine And plague and strife! What would you have of us? Were it our nearest, Were it our dearest, (Answer, O answer) We give you his life.' II But still the foeman spoil'd and burn'd, And bird in air, and fishes turn'd And dead men lay all over the way, Or down in a furrow scathed with flame : And ever and aye the Priesthood moan'd, Till at last it seem'd that an answer came. 'The King is happy In child and wife; Give us a life.' III ; The Priest went out by heath and hill 'The Gods have answer'd: IV The King return'd from out the wild, The mother said, 'They have taken the child The land is sick, the people diseased, Or I, the wife?' The King bent low, with hand on brow, For now the Priest has judged for me.' 'The Gods,' he said, 'would have chosen well; Yet both are near, and both are dear, His victim won : His only son!' VI The rites prepared, the victim bared, He caught her away with a sudden cry ; Suddenly from him brake his wife, And shrieking 'I am his dearest, II am his dearest !' rush'd on the knife. And the Priest was happy, 'O, Father Odin, We give you a life. Which was his nearest ? T. VI 305 X |