As the shadows of night came on To brood in the trees' thick branches,

And the shadow of sleep was gone. Then I roused and roared in answer,

And unsheathed from my cushioned feet My curving claws, and stretched me

And wandered my mate to greet.

We toyed in the amber moonlight
Upon the warm, flat sand,

And struck at each other our massive

arms

How powerful he was and grand!

His yellow eyes flashed fiercely

As he crouched and gazed at me, And his quivering tail, like a serpent, Twitched, curving nervously.

Then, like a storm he seized me,
With a wild, triumphant cry,
And we met, as two clouds in heaven
When the thunders before them fly.

We grappled and struggled together,

For his love, like his rage, was rude;

And his teeth in the swelling folds of my neck

At times, in our play, drew blood.

Often another suitor

For I was flexile and fair

Fought for me in the moonlight,
While I lay crouching there,

Till his blood was drained by the desert,
And ruffled with triumph and power,

He licked me and lay beside me

To breathe him a vast half-hour;

Then down to the fountain we loitered,
Where the antelopes came to drink;
Like a bolt we sprang upon them
Ere they had time to shrink;

We drank their blood, and crushed them,
And tore them limb from limb,
And the hungriest lion doubted

Ere he disputed with him.

That was a life to live for!

Not this weak, human life, With its frivolous, bloodless passions,

Its poor and petty strife! Come to my arms, my hero,

The shadows of twilight grow, And the tiger's ancient fierceness In my veins begins to flow. Come not cringing to sue me!

Take me with triumph and power, As a warrior that storms a fortress! I will not shrink or cower. Come, as you came in the desert, Ere we were women and men, When the tiger passions were in us, And love as you loved me then.

THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM.

HOOD.

[Condensed.]

'Twas in the prime of summer time,

An evening calm and cool,

And four-and-twenty happy boys

Came bounding out of school;

But the usher sat remote from all,

A melancholy man!

His hat was off, his vest apart,

To catch heaven's blessed breeze;

For a burning thought was in his brow,

And his bosom ill at ease;

So he leaned his head on his hands, and read The book between his knees.

At last he shut the ponderous tome;
With a fast and fervent grasp

He strained the dusky covers close,

And fixed the brazen hasp: "O God! could I so close my mind, And clasp it with a clasp!"

Then leaping on his feet upright,

Some moody turns he took,

Now up the mead, then down the mead,

And past a shady nook,

And, lo! he saw a little boy

That pored upon a book.

"My gentle lad, what is't you read,

Romance or fairy fable?

Or is it some historic page

Of kings and crowns unstable?"

The young boy gave an upward glance,

"It is The Death of Abel.""

The usher took six hasty strides,

As smit with sudden pain,