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THE SOUL OF OSIRIS. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
THE NAME. 
 
 
ACRED, between the serpent fangs of Pain, 
 Ringed by the vortex of the hurricane, 
Lurks the abyss of fate :  the gloomy cave, 
Sullen as night, and sleepy as a wave 
When tempest lowers and dare not strike, gapes wide, 
Vomiting pestilence ;  the deadly bride 
Of death, Despair, grins charnel-wise :  the gate 
Of Hope clangs resonant :  and starless Fate 
Glowers like a demon brooding over death. 
Monstrous and mute, the slow resurgent breath 
Spreads forth its poison :  the pale child at play 
Coughs in his gutter ;  the hard slave of day 
Groans once and dies :  the sickly spouse can feel 
The cold touch kill the unborn child, and steal 
Up to her broken heart :  the pale hours hang 
Like death upon the aged :  the days clang 
Like prison portals on the folk of day. 
Yet for the children of the night they play 
Like fountains in the moonlight :  for the few, 
The sorrowful, sweet faces of the dew, 
The laughter-loving daughters of the dawn, 
Whose moving feet make tremble all the lawn 
 
  S