Unchanged, unchangeable! A scourge

Attila-like from age to age;

What plea can Charity now urge

For such immitigable rage?

No rest from ravin, no surcease

Of carnage? Vain it seems to ply

Earth's butcher, foe of love, home, peace

With pleadings of humanity.

Since words avail not, any more

Than Sampson's withy-bands, to bind

This worse than Erymanthian boar,

This fell, fierce foe of humankind;

What use in wasting words? The hand

Of Hercules to cleanse and slay

The monster scourges of the land

Is needful in a newer day.

Malign, inexorable, untamed,

This hoar hyÆna of the East

Our skill has scorned, our wisdom shamed.

Must the implacable, fierce beast

Have room and verge for ravage still,

Unmenaced by the hunter's spear;

Blast the beginnings of goodwill,

Fill the fresh-budding waste with fear?

'Tis time, 'tis time! Incarnate crime,

Embodied cruelty and lust,

Trampler in slaughter-sanguined slime,

Mocker of loyalty and trust;

Derider of the human bond,

Befouler of barbaric faith,

Are there fanatics now so fond

As to protest against thy scath?

Seeing thine old defenders turn,

Sickened at that dread Death-Pit's sight,

And with just indignation burn,

Sure the horizon bears a light,

A blade-like beam of menace clear,

Typing the brand of Nemesis.

E'en Power's panders well might fear

To palliate such a scene as this.

The treacherous pact, the stabber's snare,

The butcher-orgie, that grim grave,

From which fire would not purge the air,

That was not hidden by the wave;

The stealthy trick, the crawling lie,—

These stain the record. Can the Turk,

For all his age-learnt subtlety,

Blot out the count of such black work.

Justice will heed the faintest plea

Even from blood-stained lips, if truth

Linger upon them; but must flee

All maundering and maudlin ruth,

If this red record 'stablished stand.

The stealthy prowler loves the night,

But crouches at the threatening hand

It glimpses in the breaking light.

Disturbed! Those shining furtive eyes

Glance angrily askance—in fear!

The women's shrieks, the children's cries,

Which we in fancy still can hear,

Left that hyÆna-heart unmoved;

But now a voice upon the air,—

The same stern voice which Cain reproved,—

Frightens the ghoul in his dark lair!