University of Virginia Library


78

VII.

She listened with rapt lips asunder,
And rounded eyes of brilliant wonder:
Love lent her Faith—nor could she draw
Distinctions nice between what broke
Or did not break, the natural law;
But could she, 'twould have been the same;
Not what was said, but he who spoke
Made what she heard as what she saw.
That cloudy madness chained and curbed—
And all her Tribe turned undisturbed
Into a screeching bird that flew
Unchecked the yielding Mountains through!
What myth could daunt her after that?
What miracle could Superstition name
Were not beside it commonplace and flat—
To stagger her belief, too tame?—
“These foreigners,” she smiled, “'tis true,
Whate'er they wish, their Atuas do!”
“An Atua—yes! divine not dread—”
(But this was rather thought than said)
“Could I but make her understand
How this benignant Genie grand,
In form so fierce, in deeds so bland,
Is toiling still o'er sea and land
With might unwearied and unworn
By slow degrees to raise Mankind;
Bestowing god-like powers, designed

79

For mightier millions yet unborn,
To wrest her plenteous treasure-horn
From Nature's wise reluctant hand;
Consigning so to second place
The Body's too absorbing claims;
Clearing the ground for higher aims;
Wiping the tears from Man's sad face;
Amalgamating every race—
Creating Time—destroying Space.”