CXIII
FREEDOM

O scorner of the party cry

That wanders from the public good,
Thou-when the nations rear on high
Their idol smear'd with blood,

And when they roll their idol down-
Of saner worship sanely proud;
Thou loather of the lawless crown
As of the lawless crowd.

How long thine ever-growing mind

Hath stilled the blast and strown the wave, Tho' some of late would raise a wind

To sing thee to thy grave,

Men loud against all forms of power

Unfurnish'd brows, tempestuous tongues

Expecting all things in an hour-
Brass mouths and iron lungs!

CXIV

THE SACRIFICE

Hushed is each busy shout,
The reverent people wait,
To see the sacred pomp stream out
Beside the temple gate.

The bull with garlands hung,

Stern priests in vesture grim ;
With rolling voices swiftly sung,
Peals out the jocund hymn.

In front, behind, beside,

Beneath the chiming towers,

Tennyson.

Pass boys that fling the censer wide,
And striplings scattering flowers.
Victim or minister

I dare not claim to be,

But in the concourse and the stir
There shall be room for me.
The victim feels the stroke,

The priests are bowed in prayer,

I feed the porch with fragrant smoke,
Strew roses on the stair.

A. C. Benson.

CXIII

LIBERTAS

O civium extra recta vagantium
insaniam audax spernere; quae minas
contemnis ad caelum ferentis
delicias populi cruentas

mox inquinandas pulvere sordido ;
quae mente sana sana colis sacra,
et legis expertes tyrannos

respuis, instabilemque plebem;
crescente pollens ingenio regis
iras procellarum et tumida aequora ;
ridesque, si certant maligni

ante diem dare te sepulcro ;
si turba carpit ferre iugum impotens
quis fronte vana lingua crepat loquax,
spes credula impendentis horae,
ferrea vox, latera aere dura.

CXIV

κλεινὸς δ ̓ ὁ πόνος μοι,

F. W.-C.

θεοῖσιν δούλαν χέρ ̓ ἔχειν.—Eur. Ion. 131. Iurgia rauca fori subito compressa quiescunt, vulgus hians pavida relligione tacet.

cernere avent omnes sacram procedere pompam, cum pandent solidas aurea templa fores. en! gravis ingreditur ferali veste sacerdos.; cervicem tauri candida vitta ligat.

carmen ad aetherias raptim producitur auras, iucunda lyricos voce iterante modos.

hinc illinc, qua turba praeit, qua clauditur agmen, dum festiva cavis turribus aera sonant, turis odor, pueris agitantibus, halat acerra, et chorus impubes floribus opplet humum. victima non ausim Superis mactanda vocari, tangere nec Superum vasa minister ego, sed concursus ubi est, et mystica sacra moventur, pars ego divini quantulacunque chori. victima sublatam sentit vittata securim, summisso flamen dat pia vota genu. vestibulum fragrante meum est involvere fumo, me spargente, rosis limina sacra rubent.

M

CXV

NARCISSUS

And the suns travelled till there came a day,
When, heated from the chase and tired with toil,
Whether of chance, or by some envious Fate
Misguided, he bore on with flagging steps
Unto a pure cold fount, where never bird
Nor mountain-goat frequented, clothed around
With fresh green turf, and secret from the sun.
Thither no devious track of mortal feet
Led through the shady labyrinth of wood;
No sound of shepherds, calling from the bowers
With melody of flute or vocal play,

Made welcome for the weary flocks at noon;
Only the immemorial silences

Kept haunt for ever on those flowery floors.

CXVI

P. S. Worsley.

The hawk slipt out of the pine, and rose in the sunlit

air,

Steady and still he poised, his shadow slept on the

grass:

And the bird's song sickened and sank: she cowered with a furtive stare,

Dumb, till the quivering dimness should flicker and shift

and pass.

Suddenly down he dropped: she heard the hiss of his wing,

Fled with a scream of terror: oh, would she had dared

to rest!

For the hawk at eve was full, and there was no bird

to sing,

And over the heather drifted the down from a bleeding

breast.

A. C. Benson.

CXV

NARCISSUS

Sol obiit rediitque diemque adduxit eundo qua, seu flexus erat casu sive ille maligna sorte aliqua aversus, sudore ferasque sequendo lassus iens, gressu pergit tamen usque labanti ad purum et gelidum fontem, quem nulla volucris montivagusve caper vult visere: caespite vivo circum herbisque nitet, Phoebi seclusus ab aestu. illuc nulla hominum vestigia devia opacum per silvae errorem ducentia videris usquam ; nulla cohors pastorum arta sub fronde vocantum flatu iucundo calamorum hilarive camena suadet oves fessas medium vitare calorem ; omnis planitiem saltus, ea florea prata, sola tenent aeterno antiqua silentia regno.

CXVI

C. W. M.

ODIMUS ACCIPITREM, QUIA SEMPER VIVIT IN ARMIS

Elapsus pinu petit auras sole calentes

arduus accipiter;

et dum se librat tacitis immobilis alis, dormiit umbra solo.

at cantu languebat avis, furtivaque figens lumina pressit humum

muta, coruscantes tremula caligine pennae

dum procul aufugerent.

ille repentino motu delabitur: alas

audierat fremere;

nec mora, triste gemens avis exsilit: o utinam illic

ausa cubare foret!

nam satur accipiter sub vespere gaudet, at infra

nulla canebat avis;

tantum tesca levis de pectore volsa cruento

pluma supervolitat.

M 2

CXVII

IN MEMORIAM F.A.S.

Yet, O stricken heart, remember, O remember
How of human days he lived the better part.
April came to bloom and never dim December
Breathed its killing chills upon the head or heart.
Doomed to know not Winter, only Spring, a being
Trod the flowery April blithely for a while,
Took his fill of music, joy of thought and seeing,

Came and stayed and went, nor ever ceased to smile.
Came and stayed and went, and now when all is finished,
You alone have crossed the melancholy stream,
Yours the pang, but his, O his, the undiminished,
Undecaying gladness, undeparted dream.

All that life contains of torture, toil, and treason,
Shame, dishonour, death, to him were but a name.
Here, a boy, he dwelt through all the singing season
And ere the day of sorrow departed as he came.
R. L. Stevenson.

CXVIII

FROM 'THE LIFE AND DEATH OF JASON'
But 'midst them all Medea thoughtfully
Gazed landward o'er the ripple of the sea,
And said no word, till from her precious things
She drew a casket full of chains and rings,

And took therefrom a chaplet brown and sere,
And set it on her head: and now being near
The yellow strand, high on the poop she stood,
And said: “O heroes, what has chilled your blood,
That in such wise ye gaze upon this land
With tearful eye, and nerveless, languid hand,
And heaving breast, and measureless desire?
Be wise, for here the never-dying fire,

The God-begotten wonder, Circe, lights,
The wise of women, framer of delights

That being of man once felt, he ne'er shall cease
To long for vainly, as the years increase
On his dulled soul, shut in some bestial form."

W. Morris.