The knout upon the bare white back!
The blood upon the snow !

The gaunt wolves, close upon the track,
Fought o'er the fallen so!

And this that one might wear a crown
Snatched from a strangled sire!
And this that two might mock or frown,
From high thrones climbing higher,
To where the Parricide looks down

With harlot in desire!

Yet on, beneath the great North Star,
Like some lost, living thing,

That long line struggled black and far
Till hidden by death's wing!

And great men praised the goodly Czar—
But God sat pitying.

**

*

The storm burst forth!

From out that storm

The clean, red lightning leapt,

And lo, a prostrate royal form!—

Like any blood, his crept

Down through the snow, all smoking warm,

And Alexander slept!

Yea, one lies dead for millions dead!

One red spot in the snow

For one long damning line of red;

While exiles endless go—

The babe at breast, the mother's head

Bowed down, and dying so!

And did a woman do this deed?

Then build her scaffold high,

That all may on her forehead read

Her martyr's right to die!

Ring Cossack round on royal steed!

Now lift her to the sky!

But see! From out the black hood shines

1

A light few look upon!

Poor exiles, see! from dark, deep mines,
Your star and burst of dawn! .
A thud! A creak of hangman's lines—
A frail shape jerked and drawn! . .

*

The Czar is dead; the woman dead,

About her neck a cord.

In God's house rests his royal head-
Hers in a place abhorred:

Yet I had rather have her bed

Than thine, most royal lord!

Yea, rather be that woman dead,
Than this new living Czar,

To hide in dread, with both hands red,
Behind great bolt and bar—

While, like the dead, still endless tread
Sad exiles tow'rd their star.

CHARITY.

Her hands were clasped downward and doubled,
Her head was held down and depressed,
Her bosom, like white billows troubled,
Fell fitful and rose in unrest;

Her robes were all dust and disorder'd,

Her glory of hair, and her brow; Her face that had lifted and lorded, Fell pallid and passionless now.

She heard not accusers that brought her
In mockery hurried to Him,

Nor heeded, nor said, nor besought her
With eyes lifted doubtful and dim.

All crushed and stone-cast in behavior,
She stood as a marble would stand;
Then the Saviour bent down, and the Saviour
In silence wrote on in the sand.

What wrote He? How fondly one lingers
And questions, what holy command

Fell down from the beautiful fingers
Of Jesus, like gems in the sand!

O better the Scian uncherished

Had died ere a note or device
Of battle was fashioned, than perished
This only line written by Christ.

He arose, and He looked on the daughter
Of Eve, like a delicate flower,

And he heard the revilers that brought her—
Men stormy and strong as a tower;

And he said, "She has sinned; let the blameless Come forward and cast the first stone!"

But they, they fled shamed and yet shameless; And she, she stood white and alone.

Who now shall accuse and arraign us? What man shall condemn and disown? Since Christ has said only the stainless Shall cast at his fellows a stone.

For what man can bare us his bosom,
And touch with his forefinger there,
And
say, 'tis as snow, as a blossom?
Beware of the stainless, beware!

O woman, born first to believe us;
Yea, also born first to forget;
Born first to betray and deceive us,
Yet first to repent and regret!

O first then in all that is human,

Lo first where the Nazarene trod,

O woman! O beautiful woman!

Be then first in the kingdom of God!

The faithful helm commands the keel,
From port to port fair breezes blow;
But the ship must sail the convex sea,
Nor may she straighter go.

So, man to man; in fair accord,

On thought and will, the winds may wait;
But the world will bend the passing word,
Though its shortest course be straight.

From soul to soul the shortest line

At best will bended be:

The ship that holds the straightest course

Still sails the convex sea.

THE CITY STREETS.

A City of Palaces! Yes, that's true: a city of palaces built for

trade;

Look down this street-what a splendid view of the temples

where fabulous gains are made.

Just glance at the wealth of a single pile, the marble pillars, the

miles of glass,