 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
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THE ROUSED LION. (1882.)
The grand old Lion lay within his lair,
At rest; and children hung upon the hair
Of his huge mane, and kissed the cruel jaws,
And stroked with fearful joy those massive paws,
Moulded like granite columns; round his neck
An infant clung, who came with flowers to deck
His awful head; and baby fingers swayed
The mighty beast, that hosts of men dismayed.
At rest; and children hung upon the hair
Of his huge mane, and kissed the cruel jaws,
And stroked with fearful joy those massive paws,
Moulded like granite columns; round his neck
An infant clung, who came with flowers to deck
His awful head; and baby fingers swayed
The mighty beast, that hosts of men dismayed.
The lesser beasts grew bolder, as he lay
Still in repose, and took from every day
That passed fresh courage; till at last they stole,
Each from the darkness of his hiding-hole,
And crept into the light. They trembled yet.
They could not, if they would, at once forget
The terrors of the Past; they cowered and crawled,
Like beaten hounds, by the old spell enthralled.
Still in repose, and took from every day
That passed fresh courage; till at last they stole,
Each from the darkness of his hiding-hole,
And crept into the light. They trembled yet.
They could not, if they would, at once forget
The terrors of the Past; they cowered and crawled,
Like beaten hounds, by the old spell enthralled.
Day followed day, and still the Lion kept
A calm unbroken. Then they thought he slept,
Gorged with the blood of victims, and would sleep
Till hunger waked him. So they ceased to creep,
And sported round him with defiant tread.
Then openly they cried that he was dead,
And spurned him, as the rider spurs the hack.
Curs, that once fawned, came snapping at his back.
A calm unbroken. Then they thought he slept,
Gorged with the blood of victims, and would sleep
Till hunger waked him. So they ceased to creep,
And sported round him with defiant tread.
Then openly they cried that he was dead,
And spurned him, as the rider spurs the hack.
Curs, that once fawned, came snapping at his back.
“Is this the King we worshipped so,” they said,
“Whose every movement made us sore afraid,
“Whose face struck panic? Nay, it is an Ass,
“Clothed in a Lion skin, with lungs of brass;
“We will be slaves no longer.” Then, in pride,
They trampled him, and round each mountain side
Heaped heavy chains, and built an iron pen.
But still the Lion stirred not in his den.
“Whose every movement made us sore afraid,
“Whose face struck panic? Nay, it is an Ass,
“Clothed in a Lion skin, with lungs of brass;
“We will be slaves no longer.” Then, in pride,
They trampled him, and round each mountain side
Heaped heavy chains, and built an iron pen.
But still the Lion stirred not in his den.
Why did he bear those insults, who of yore
Made the earth tremble with his tempest roar,
And shook it with his tread? His keeper knew
Who, though a coward and a traitor drew
The hireling's wages, while he drugged the food,
And stupefied his charge. Darkly he stood,
Vaunting his victim's tameness . . . But, at length,
The damnèd poison lost its wonted strength.
Made the earth tremble with his tempest roar,
And shook it with his tread? His keeper knew
Who, though a coward and a traitor drew
The hireling's wages, while he drugged the food,
And stupefied his charge. Darkly he stood,
Vaunting his victim's tameness . . . But, at length,
The damnèd poison lost its wonted strength.
A change came over him. He stirred, he stretched
His giant limbs. In vain the keeper fetched
Fresh dainties, and the old enchantments tried.
The captive King his poison dashed aside,
And crushed him with a blow. In royal rage,
He rose. And, lo! the bonds and iron cage
Crumbled and fell; and, at his dreadful roar,
They crawled and grovelled round him as before.
His giant limbs. In vain the keeper fetched
Fresh dainties, and the old enchantments tried.
The captive King his poison dashed aside,
And crushed him with a blow. In royal rage,
He rose. And, lo! the bonds and iron cage
Crumbled and fell; and, at his dreadful roar,
They crawled and grovelled round him as before.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |