}fe)
ORACLES
All on their sides are the wounds of lust
Wet, from the home of their auburn hair
Down to the feet that we find so fair;
Where the red sword has a secret thrust,
Pain, and delight, and desire they share.
Verily pain! and thy daughters trust
Thou canst bid roses spring out of dust.
Mingle; ye children of such a queen,
Mingle, and meet, and sow never a seed !
Mingle, and tingle, and kiss, and bleed
With the blood of the life of the Lampsa-
cene,! )
With the teeth that know never a pitiful
deed .
But fret and foam over with kisses obscene—
Mingle and weep for what years have been.
Never a son nor a daughter grow
From your waste limbs, lest the goddess
weep;
Fill up the ranks from the babes that
sleep
Far in the arms of a god of snow.
Conquer the world, that her throne may
keep
_- More of its pride, and its secret woe
Flow through all earth as the rivers flow.
Which of the gods is like thee, our queen?
. Venus Callipyge, nameless, nude,
Thou with the knowledge of all indued,
Secrets of life and the dreams that mean
Loves that are not, as are mortals’, hued
All rose and lily, but linger unseen,
Passion-flowers purpled, garlands of green !
‘Who like thyself shall command our ways?
Who has such pleasures and pains for hire ?
Who can awake such a mortal fire
In the veins of a man, that deathly days
Have robbed of the masteries of desire?
Who can give garlands of fadeless bays
Unto the sorrow and pain we praise?
1 Priapus.
Yea, we must praise, though the deadly
shade .
Fall on the morrow, though fires of hell
Harrow our vitals; a miracle
Springs at thy kisses, for thou hast made
Anguish and sorrow desirable ;
Torment of hell as the leaves that fade
Quickly forgotten, despised, decayed.
They are decayed, but thou.springest again,
Mother of mystery, barren, who bearest
Fidwers of most comeliest children, who
wearest .
Wounds for delight, whose desire shall stain
Star-space with blood as the price thou
sharest
Sweet with thy lovers, whose passing pain
Ripens to marvellous after-gain.
Thou art the fair, the wise, the divine |
Thou art our mother, our goddess, our
life !
Thou art our passion, our sorrow, our
strife!
Thou, on whose forehead no lights ever
shine,
Thou, our redeemer, our mistress, our
wife,
Thou, barren sister of deathlier brine,
Venus Callipyge, mother of mine!
Daughter of Lust by the foam of the sea!
Mother offame! Sister of shame!
Tiger that Sin nor her son cannot tame !
Worship to thee! Glory to thee!
Venus Callipyge, mother of me.
THE CANNIBALS.
ALL night no change, no whisper. Scarce
a breath,
But lips closed hard upon the cup of death
To drain its sweetest poison. _ Scarce a sigh
Beats the dead hours out ;' scarce a melody