University of Virginia Library

A mighty lion in the desert dwelt;
The dead sands trembled at his awful roar.
He held victorious sway from stream to shore;
Even as snows before the south wind melt
So fled the herds before him. Evermore
Conqueror and master, on his wrinkled front
The signet of his empery he wore.
The spotted tiger held him not at bay
Nor the sleek ounce; nor where slow rivers stray
Sullen and tropic, reed-hid as his wont,
Dared the dull monoceros wait his prey,
When those great footsteps set their print that way.
But cunning hunters found the lion's lair,
Deep in the jungle, and about his bed
Folded their slender nets as slumbering there
At rest from battle, with his awful head
Prone like a lamb's he lay 'mid rank leaves spread,
His sinews all relaxed. So still as air
The subtle meshes in that misty night
Soft settled over him, and held him tight;
A cobweb, light to feel but strong to snare.
Then, waking e'er the dawn's first level light,
He stretched, and snuffed, and lazily would rise,
But the fine threads were tangled around his eyes,
Hindered his struggling feet, and more and more
Vexed the tense muscles that against them bore
With desperate strength and pitiful surprise,
His roar was dumb, his eyes of yellow flame
Grew red with terror; all about him spread
The nets he saw not; all his stout heart bled
With pangs of terror, mystery and shame;
Till, when the slim dark hunters toward him came,
Spying and half afraid, the king lay dead.

Oh lion of our land! Men cast on thee
A subtle net, a more relentless snare,
As crowned with gifts and honors, thou didst fare
Toward thy rest, in grave tranquillity;
And now thou liest, fall'n, for all to see
Trapped, heart-broke, dying; yet still brave to dare
The passage of the vast unsounded sea.
Our netted lion, whom nor grief, nor prayer,
Nor the loud call of frighted liberty,
Shall ever from those deadly meshes free.
God help us all! Yea, God, in His great might help thee!