Jephthah and Other Mysteries

xviii PRELUDE. Stage thunders mock the once terrific nod That spoke the fury of the Christian God, Whose slaves deny, too cowardly to abjure, Their desecrated Moloch. The impure Godhead is powerless, even on the slave, Who once could scar the forehead of the brave, Break love’s heart pitiful, and reach the strong Through stricken children, and a mother’s wrong. Day after darkness, life beyond the tomb! Manhood reluctant from religion’s womb Leaps, and sweet laughters flash for freedom’s birth That thrills the old bosom of maternal earth. The dawn has broken; yet the impure fierce fire Kindles the grievous furnace of desire Still for the harpy brood of king and priest, Slave, harlot, coward, that make human feast Before the desecrated god, in hells Of darkness, where the mitred vampire dwells, Where still death reigns, and God and priests are fed, Man’s blood for wine, man’s flesh for meat and bread, The lands of murder, of the obscene things That snarl at freedom, broken by her wings, That prop the abomination, cringe and smile, Caressing the dead fetich, that defile With hideous sacraments the happy land. Destruction claims its own ; the hero’s hand Grips the snake’s throat ; yea, on its head is set The heel that crushes it, the serpent wet With that foul blood, from human vitals drained, From tears of broken women, and sweat stained