 | The writings of Robert C. Sands |  |
XXIX.
She had not ceased, when on the blastA warning shriek of horror pass'd;
Emerging from the woodland gloom,
They saw a form unearthly come.
White were it locks, its robes of white,
And gleaming through their lurid light,
Swift it advanced. The Pów-wahs stood,
Palsied amid their rites of blood;
E'en the stern Prophet feared to trace
The awful features of that face,
And shrunk, as if towards their flame
Yohewah's angry presence came.
| The writings of Robert C. Sands | |