They fell like a row of ninepins, blackened in face and hand in an instant,—­in the twinkling of an eye.  Dead.  The electric flame licked the life out of seven men in that second; not one moved a muscle or a finger again.  Then followed a wild scene.  The crowd, stupefied for a minute by the thunderbolt and the horror of the devastation it had wrought, presently recovered sense, and with a mighty shout hurled itself against the palisade, burst it, leapt over it and swarmed into the quadrangle, easily overpowering the unnerved guards.  I was surrounded; eager hands unbound mine; arms were thrown about me; the people roared, and wept, and triumphed, and fell about me on their knees praising Heaven.  I think rain fell, my face was wet with drops, and my hair,—­but I knew no more, for I swooned and lay unconscious in the arms of the crowd.  My rescue had indeed come, and from the very Heavens!

—­Rome, April 12, 1887

Dream-Verses

“Through the Ages”

Wake, thou that sleepest!  Soul, awake! 
        Thy light is come, arise and shine! 
        For darkness melts, and dawn divine
Doth from the holy Orient break;

Swift-darting down the shadowy ways
        And misty deeps of unborn Time,
        God’s Light, God’s Day, whose perfect prime
Is as the light of seven days.

Wake, prophet-soul, the time draws near,
        “The God who knows” within thee stirs
        And speaks, for His thou art, and Hers
Who bears the mystic shield and spear.

The hidden secrets of their shrine
        Where thou, initiate, didst adore,
        Their quickening finger shall restore
And make its glories newly thine.

A touch divine shall thrill thy brain,
        Thy soul shall leap to life, and lo! 
        What she has known, again shall know;
What she has seen, shall see again;

The ancient Past through which she came,—­
        A cloud across a sunset sky,—­
        A cactus flower of scarlet dye,—­
A bird with throat and wings of flame;—­

A red wild roe, whose mountain bed
        Nor ever hound or hunter knew,
        Whose flying footprint dashed the dew
In nameless forests, long since dead.

And ever thus in ceaseless roll
        The wheels of Destiny and Time
        Through changing form and age and clime
        Bear onward the undying Soul: 

Till now a Sense, confused and dim,
        Dawns in a shape of nobler mould,
        Less beast, scarce human; uncontrolled,
With free fierce life in every limb;

A savage youth, in painted gear,
        Foot fleeter than the summer wind;
        Scant speech for scanty needs designed,
Content with sweetheart, spoil and spear

And, passing thence, with burning breath,
        A fiery Soul that knows no fear,
        The armed hosts of Odin hear
Her voice amid the ranks of death;