4 6 



curl back in crested billows. It licks up 

 sedge and weed and brier all, indeed, save 

 a few stout stems that stand, crackling 

 ghosts and stark, in the black earth behind 

 it. Tramp stoutly over it the blackness 

 is but light embers. Follow the flame, 

 keeping always well to windward. See 

 bramble and saw-brier change to writhing, 

 fiery serpents. Hear the hollow weed-stems 

 fire at the flame a fairy fusillade. 



Mark, too, that tall, dead tree, standing 

 lone and branchless, far at the lower edge. 

 Flame has not yet touched its root, but the 

 top sends out smoke, glows red in the gath- 

 ering dusk. The wind bore a spark to it, 

 and kindled it as by magic in the soft, rot- 

 ting wood. Now the fire has reached the 

 foot of it how it leaps- and roars, licking 

 up bark and sap-wood, making the poor tree 

 a pillar of fire ! All night it shall stand 

 hissing, glowing a fountain of red sparks. 

 At morning it will lie prone on Mother 

 Earth a blackened skeleton, yet with fire 

 still in its heart. 



Now the racing flame curls over the 

 brush -heaps the last enemy; here shall 

 be battle - royal. As the issue is joined 

 what lurid columns leap up ! dancing, wa- 

 vering, drawing one to another. The merry, 



