"WHAT frightens you in from play, my child?
Your cheeks are as white as snow,
Your lips are pale, and your eyes are wild;
Oh, why do you tremble so?"
"Dear mother, while I was wading the brook
For lilies along the brink,
A ghostly ox, with a deathly look,
Came down to the stream to drink.
"The creatures was not of flesh and bones,
But paler than crystal glass:
I saw through his body the trees, and stones,
And mosses, and meadow-grass.
"He wander'd round, and, wherever he went,
He stepp'd with so light a tread,
No harebell under his hoof was bent,
No violet bow'd its head.
"He cast no shadow upon the ground,
No image upon the stream;
His lowing was fainter than any sound
That ever was heard in a dream.
"I quiver'd and quaked in every limb!
I knew not whither to flee;
The further away I shrank from him,
The nearer he came to me.
"My handful of lilies he sniff'd and smelt;
His breath was chilly and fresh;
His horns, as they touch'd me softly, felt
Like icicles to my flesh.
"I shiver'd with cold, I burn'd with flame,
I call'd to God and man;
But nobody heard, and nobody came,
And than I started and ran.
"I rush'd through the water across the brook,
And high on the shelving shore
I stopp'd and ventured to turn and look,
In hope to see him no more.
"He walk'd in my wake on the top of the flood
And follow'd me up the bank!
A blast from his nostrils froze my blood!
My spirit within me sank.
"I hid in the reeds, O mother dear,
But swift as a whiff of air
He follow'd me there! He follows me here!
He follows me everywhere!
"Oh, frown at him, frighten him, drive him away!
He's coming in at the door!"
And down fell the lad in a swoon, and lay
At his mother's feet on the floor.
The mother look'd round her, dazed and dumb:
She saw but the empty air,
Yet knew, if the phantom ox had come,
The shadow of death was there.
She caught the pallid boy to her breast,
And pillow'd him on his bed;
The white-eyed moon kept watch in the west;
The beautiful child lay dead.
THEODORE TILTON.
