THE DRYAD'S LAST STAND 



By VICTORIA ELISABETH GITTINGS. Baltimore, Md. 



\UI.\r\Y nights, when weird and eerie 



Clouds rly swiftly o'er the moon; 

 When the wind howls mad and dreary. 

 Then drops sadly to a croon ; 



Stir we restless in our dreams : 

 Something in the air there seems. 



II 



Not broom-mounted witches riding 

 To their Sabbats, whip and spur; 

 Neither elves the morning biding; 

 Nor lost souls, as some aver. 

 Tis the Dryads of the trees, 

 \\nrsliipped long in ancient Greece. 



in 

 Swaying, rythmic as their tree-tops, 



Wringing hands so slim and fair, 

 Loud they mourn the land of Cecrops 

 For their homes were sacred there. 

 "What can we poor Dryads do? 

 With our woods, they slay us too!" 



IV 



Recently they held a meeting 



Weighty was the theme discussed ; 

 Anxiously they kept repeating 



That preserve their trees they must. 

 "Man has proved our deadly foe; 

 Either he or we must go!" 



v 

 "Through the land is heard the droning 



Of the forest guillotine." 

 Here a deep and dirge-like moaning, 

 Answered from the nymphs in green : 

 "Vain in council are we met; 

 Man is on destruction set." 



VI 



Then a Hamadryad older, 



Wiser far than all the rest, 

 Cushioned on a lichened boulder, 

 Silenced them, and thus addressed: 



"Wood-nymphs all, be still, attend; 

 Hear me patient to the end ! 



VII 



"True it is that mortals doom us, 



All to perish from the land. 

 Strong enough they to entomb us; 

 Weak indeed is our small band. 

 But restrain your grief and see 

 Whether man the gainer be. 



IH 



