The curtain rose; in thunders long and loud
The galleries rung; the veteran actor bowed
In flaming line the telltales of the stage
Showed on his brow the autograph of age;
Pale, hueless waves amid his clustered hair,
And umbered shadows, prints of toil and care;
Round the wide circle glanced his vacant eye, —
He strove to speak, — his voice was but a sigh.

Year after year had seen its short-lived race
Flit past the scenes and others take their place;
Yet the old prompter watched his accents still,

I .

Through woman still the eternal God-power pours
 Its wealth of passion and its glory of form
 God's breast is in the white breast, sweet and warm,
And subtle flower-scents from far heavenly shores
That who inhales in rapturous trance adores.
 The impassioned sense of “conjugal repose”
 God only, being perfect sex-God, knows
And gives to man from his exhaustless stores.

Dim-seen religions of ancestral lands
 Erring, it may be, none the less were nearer
  In this to God's heart, and the truth proclaimed

When age comes by and lays his frosty hands
So lightly on mine eyes, that, scarce aware
Of what an endless weight of gloom they bear,
I pause, unstirred, and wait for his commands;
When time has bound these limbs of mine with bands,
And hushed mine cars, and silvered all my hair,
May sorrow come not, nor a vain despair
Trouble my soul that meekly girded stands.

As silent rivers into silent lakes,
Through hush of reeds that not a murmur breaks,
Wind, mindful of the poppies whence they came,
So may my life, and calmly burn away,

" Constance" — 'tis no name for you,
Who in love are never true;
" Constance" — once I sang its praise,
Now it poisons all my days.

Those that love you, them you fly
And to trap new quarry try.
When they're caught in love's domain
Swift you turn and fly again.

Would this sunshine be completer,
Or these violets smell sweeter,
Or the birds sing more in metre,
If it all were years ago,
When the melted mountain-snow
Heard in Enna all the woe
Of the poor forlorn Demeter?

Would a stronger life pulse o'er us
If a panther-chariot bore us,
If we saw, enthroned before us,
Ride the leopard-footed god,
With a fir-cone tip the rod,
Whirl the thyrsus round, and nod
To a drunken Maenad-chorus?

Bloomed there richer, redder roses
Where the Lesbian earth encloses

Soft are my lady's lips
And soft her rosy breast,
Her snow-white arm
Enfolds me warm
And lulls me soft to rest.

But hard of heart is she,
Love naught but kisses gains;
'Gainst mercy steeled,
She will not yield,
And virgin still remains.

I thirst in sight of bliss
Like Tantalus of yore,
I know full well
The pains of hell
And can endure no more.

When o'er the street the morning peal is flung
From yon tall belfry with the brazen tongue,
Its wide vibrations, wafted by the gale,
To each far listener tell a different tale.
The sexton, stooping to the quivering floor
Till the great caldron spills its brassy roar,
Whirls the hot axle, counting, one by one,
Each dull concussion, till his task is done.
Toil's patient daughter, when the welcome note
Clangs through the silence from the steeple's throat,
Streams, a white unit, to the checkered street,

You titter and giggle, you beckon again,
You do all to invite me, but all is in vain;
You have jilted me once and I swore by the stone
That henceforth I'd leave you severely alone.
Though you pout your bare lips till they seem naked quite
You may kiss your own mouth; you won't have me to-night.
No, I go my own way. Other girls I shall find
More skilled at caresses, more comely, more kind.

From heav'n the King of Glory came,
To raise the fall'n to thrones above,
And through this ransom'd world proclaim
One law of liberty and love:
From sin, to set sin's captives free,
Captive he led captivity.

To death by awful Justice doom'd,
He found our whole apostate race;
Himself our flesh and blood assum'd,
That he might suffer in our place;
From death, to set death's pris'ners free,
Captive he led captivity.

For us the pains of hell he bore,
Wrung to the dregs the cup of wrath,

Lord! give the word; say, — " Be thou free, "
Proclaim thine own accepted year!
The captive yearns for liberty;
Our earnest pray'r, O Savior! hear.

Lord of all pow'r! unloose his chain;
Most merciful! for mercy's sake,
The broken heart bind thou again,
The bruised reed, Oh! spare to break.

We can but weep, — thou, Lord! canst aid;
We can but pray, — thou, Lord! canst save;
Deliv'rance, now so long delay'd,
We for our fathers' victims crave.

O visit not on us, good Lord!
The sin our fathers bore so long;