The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1901-12-12

him; that Orion's club is torn away;
that worlds and consultations are
swept with him.
The scenes before him are but as
/ strings of gold and blue. flowing from
his eyes as he turns
| His brain is more confused, for he
dreams that he is the plaything of a
child; giant top. The sky-dwelling
child has lost him, and through un-
known realms he has spun away. in
dizzy circles, never to be found again.
Now once mere he feels the net
about him, and he begs for sleep. A
little sleep for the love of Heaven.
He dreams that he has shot the al
batross and is desolate on a wide,
wide sea.
He forgets the wish for sleep. In
yonder dark corner is a spy. He pen
etrates the mans thoughts and
catches them in his hands like
little birds. They will grow in time
and testify against him. He shrinks
and tries to flee. The spy follows.
They traverse vast deserts, and lonely
seas, and always there is no hope of
separation. The man turns in anger
and seizes the spy, tearing him to
fragments. Each fragment becomes
q man.
A wall closes around them all, the
man and the thousand spies. He
rushes madly at his enemies, and all
the great hands grasp him. He
strives to give battle, and behold the
walls and floors and ceiling are hun
CRY mouths that would tear him.
He thinks to bury his secret, and,
beneath his feet, crushed as he steps
upon them, lie eyes as the sands of
the sea.
Only little sleep, he cries, and then
dreams again.
The net is hung upon star. 1t has
a rope as long as hate, as strong as
love.
The net swings, pulled by mighty
forms. 1t rushes through unfathomed
depths, down, down, forever; it is
million years for every change, and
every change is thick with fear.
There is blackness everywhere, and
he hears the sunlight go screaming
past him, searching for worlds I'M
known.
The great visions have ceased.
A room lies before the man, dark
within its center. Along its edge he
I sees a woman's form. She bears
child that cries for food. The mans
eyes fix themselves upon her. He
thinks he goes to meet her. Then he
starts back with a cry. All around the
woman and the child are pits set thick
with points of steel. The child cries in
terror for its lips are red with blood.
l 1t slips from his mothers hands, for
they are slippery and red. He falls
towards the steel swords, and the
mother gives great cry and would
fain hold her little one. The man
springs to her side. Together they
'seize the child, who has become as
lead and who, crying for aid, still
slips towards the cruel pit. The man
cries in agony: ooh, Mary, wife Of
my hearth" and behold she, too, has
fallen upon the piercing points. The
woman and child cry to him for help,
and he stands cropping wildly, for all
the eyelids from all the eyes he trod
upon have closed upon his own.
He thinks he is torn away from
those he loves, and as he falls through
space their cries follow him like black
sunbeams, and stunt all the flowers of
his soul.
He comes to strange lands and sud-
denly hangs suspended above the
world.
He dreams that giant power racks
him so that across the entire firma
rnent he lies stretched in agony. Amid
the mighty sky masses of color who
rule and govern the realms come to as
sail him.
Through his veins flow currents of
blue, his arteries pulsate with torrents
that seem drawn from the wells of
the sky. The golden summer noon
and he are one, and through his skin
the drops of molten sunlight drip.
Then the color changes to green. He
feels the trees springing to life amid
his tortured frame, the lank grasses
are growing from his eyes; tangle of
rushes is around his heart, and the
agony of awakening leaves and flow
ers is rising within his blood.
Now blackless creeps upon him.
1t edges its slow way seeking for en-
trance, and it slips beneath his nails;
it mounts and writhes within him.
Oh the horror of it! The load he
carries within his veins would blot
out a thousand suns. 1t Lies soft and
heavy upon his lips, and the angels
who see him turn from this blackened
soul of night.
He would cry aloud, but he is soaked
in darkness, if his lips open he would
die, the world is gone, he must lie there
forever where the black rain buries
him ever deeper in the bottomless pit
of night.
Oh listen how the drops fall upon
him, dreadful, desolate, intending.
The mans brain is darkened, and l
can tell no more.
SPENCER BOYD.