The Tower of Victory

The starlight night was cool and dim,Soft clouds beflecked the tranquil sky.She climbed the hill, and reached with him,The carven Tower of Victory.

The Tower that rears its lonely headAbove the Jungle, wild and vast,And dreams, perchance, of warriors deadWho held the hills in ages past.

Sweet fragrance drifted o'er the landFrom Champa trees and Jasmin flowers;The lovers wandered, hand in hand,Through long, and all uncounted, hours.

And when the night was mid-way spentThey climbed the dark and broken stair,Half stifled from the acrid scentOf countless bats, that harboured there.

The topmost steps had fall'n away,A time-worn ladder took their place,Until she felt the night-wind playIn coolness on her upturned face.

At last, they reached the highest stage,Windswept and open to the stars.The battlements were worn with ageBut waving grasses hid the scars.

The lonely Jungle lay serene,Beneath the star-bejewelled skies,They turned them from the silver sceneTo seek once more each other's eyes.

But when he caught her to his breastShe shrank in delicate dismay;So, chilled, he left her uncaressedAnd drew his eager arms away.

Her eyes beneath their lashes hidThe tender tears that left them dim,As down the ladder-rungs he slidAnd drew it swiftly after him.

"It must," he cried, "be naught or all;And I shall come no more to theeTill from the Tower I hear thee callTo say thou wilt be kind to me!"

"Stay now" she begged. He would not heed,But down the ruined, twisting stairHe crushed his way with reckless speedAnd reached the scented outer air.

But when he scarce had left the TowerHe paused, and felt his anger cease,Such was the magic of the hourIts lovely mystery and peace.

•••

Two eyes among the thickets glow;A stealthy rustle stirs the air;The Tigress springs, and lays him low,Then bears him, senseless, to her lair.

There was no sound; he gave no cry;The careless stars looked on serene.The Jungle's sudden tragedyRemained unheard, unknown, unseen.

While on the Tower, she cried in tears,"Return to me, Beloved of mine,Forgive me for my foolish fearsWithin those tender arms of thine.

"Oh, Brightest Star of all the nightCome back, and shed thy light on me,And thou shalt learn, to thy delight,How more than kind I am to thee!"

In vain she cried, in vain she wept,At times in solitary woe,Towards the inner edge she creptAnd looked, but dared not leap, below.

Before she died, three weary daysShe called in anguish on his name.By twilight cool, or noonday blaze,Her luckless lover never came.

And since men rarely mount the stonesThat form the Tower's ruined stair,It may be that her small, white bonesStill wait in lonely silence there.

Ah, when Love comes, his wings are swift,His ways are full of quick surprise;'Tis well for those who have the giftTo seize him even as he flies!