WwW. V.

Come forth from Thine Invisible, and face
In mortal guise the mortal Thou has
plagued!”

The race of giants, sunk in heavy sleep
Within the cirque of those cyclopean walls,
Heard as it were far thunder in their dreams ;
But answer came there none from cloud or
star.

Then cried the aged King;

“ A curse consume
Thy blind night fevered with the glare of stars,
Wild voices, and the agony of dreams !
Would it were day!”

At last the gleam of dawn
Swept in a long grey shudder from the East,
Then reddened o’er the misty jungle tracts.
The guards about the massive city gates
Fell back with hurried whispers: “’Tis the
King!”
And forth, with great white beard and gold-
girt brows,
Huge spear, and jewelled fells, the giant strode
To slake his rage among the beasts of prey.
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