ANCIENT HISTORY
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dam, a brown old vulture in the rain,Shivered below his wind-whipped olive-trees;Huddling sharp chin on scarred and scraggy knees,He moaned and mumbled to his darkening brain;'_He was the grandest of them all--was Cain!_'A lion laired in the hills, that none could tire;'Swift as a stag; a stallion of the plain,'Hungry and fierce with deeds of huge desire.' Grimly he thought of Abel, soft and fair--A lover with disaster in his face,And scarlet blossom twisted in bright hair.'Afraid to fight; was murder more disgrace? ...'_God always hated Cain._' ... He bowed his head--The gaunt wild man whose lovely sons were dead.
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