I cut an artery in my arm and sucked its blood.  The thirstness did not cease.  They lied.  ‘Twas not the vultures at Prometeus’ heart, ’twas hunger at his vitals gnawed.  The salt drops that I swallowed from that vein have set my brain on fire.  What’s that?  The ground’s a-tremble ’neath my feet as touched with life.  Earth, rend your breast and let me in!  For anything but this dire darkness, made alive with vengeful eye-balls—­his eyes!  They glare with hate at me.  I heard him laugh but now.  For anything but this most loving corpse whose head caressing rests it on my feet.  Ah, no, I did not mean it thus; I would not get away alone.  I loved that corpse.  It was the sweetest bit of human frailty that to man e’er brought a blessing or a curse.  I turned from Dias’ holy grail to taste its nectar.  Hell, throw a-wide your sulphur-blazoned gates, I’ll grasp it in my arms and make the plunge!  Hist! what was that?  I heard him laugh again.  Laugh, fiend, you cannot hurt me more.  Ah!  Reyenita, mine in life you were, in death you shall be mine.  When this clogged blood has stopped the wheels of life, I’ll put my arms around your neck, I’ll lay my face against your frozen one, and thus I’ll die.  When this foul place has crumbled to the sunlight, some relic-hunting lunatic will stumble o’er our bones, and pitiless will weave a tale for eyes more pitiless to read.  Back, Stygian ghoul!  Death’s on me now.  I feel his rattle in my throat!  My limbs are blocks of ice!  My heart has tuned it with the muffled dead-march drum!  A jar of crashing worlds is in my ears!  A drowsy faintness creeps upon—­

* * * * *

    The seal is broken, the mystery tell;
    You have read the letters, what do they tell? 
    Do they tell you the story they told that day
    To me, in the Mission old and gray—­
        The Mission Carmel at Monterey?

WASTED HOURS.

If that thy hand with heart-will sought,
  To work with Christ-love underlying,
But ere thou hadst accomplished aught
  Time passed thee by while vainly trying,
    The wasted hour, the vain endeavor,
    Will wait thee in the far forever.

If thou hadst toiled from dawn till eve,
  But felt no thrill of joy in giving
No heart made glad, no want relieved,
  Lived but for selfish love of living,
    Though idle hours went by thee never,
    The hours are lost to thee forever.

* * * * *

ROCKING THE BABY.

I hear her rocking the baby—­
  Her room is just next to mine—­
And I fancy I feel the dimpled arms
  That round her neck entwine,
As she rocks, and rocks the baby,
  In the room just next to mine. 
I hear her rocking the baby
  Each day when the twilight comes,
And I know there’s a world of blessing and love
  In the “baby bye” she hums. 
I can see the restless fingers
  Playing with “mamma’s rings,”
And the sweet little smiling, pouting mouth,
  That to hers in kissing clings,
As she rocks and sings to the baby,
  And dreams as she rocks and sings.