Classic Poem

I

The hairs about his muzzle tipp'd with wet;
The last sun glinting on his tawny mane,
And burnishing his hide; veil'd eyes that yet
So slumbrous-solemn flash and slowly wane.

Veil'd slumbrous-solemn eyes, that half-asleep
Seem utter-careless of the wild around;
Soft seeming-careless steps that seek the deep
Gloom'd bush, — but give no shadow of a sound.

Loose-limb'd, he slouches shambling in the cool;
Head down, hide rippling over lazy might;
Thoughtful and terrible he leaves the pool —
Shumba the Lion, passing to the night.

II

A grass-blade breaking!
Swift, in awful calm,
The mighty limbs at length along the ground;
Steel muscles tightening —
A sense of harm,
Intangible... no shadow of a sound...

But savage eyes unveil'd,
Intense as death;
Purs'd lips and lower'd ears and bated breath,
Dread vigour hail'd
From every nerve and tissue — crouching there
Blent with grass, — incarnate, awful FEAR !

A leap — a scream — a thud;
And it is done.
Silence awhile, and the hot smell of blood.
Silence, then slowly, with the sinking sun,
The rend of flesh....The crickets wake and sing,
The frogs take up their song, the night-jars wing
Weird in the azure dusk. As had been will'd,
Chance brought him food; and Fate has been fulfill'd.