Jephthah and Other Mysteries

216 MYSTERIES: The silver arrows that bedeck the birch Shiver along the ground, Priest, fiend, and harpy answer to the call, And hasten to their ghastly festival. There in the vale below my feet I see the crew Gather, blaspheming God, and greet Their shame anew. A feast is spread of some unholy meat; Ofttimes there murmurs through Their horrid ranks a cry of pain as God Bids them keep memory of His iron rod. The vale is black with priests. They fight, Wild beasts, for food, The orphan’s gold, the widow's right, The virgin’s snood. All in their maws are crammed within the night That hides their chosen wood, Where through the blackness sounds the sickening noise Of cannibals that gloat on monstrous joys. The valley steams with slaughter. Here Shall the pure snow The bloody reek of murder rear To crush the foe? Like a mad giant shall the rocks spring clear And smite the fiends below ?