The man, that only lives and loves an hour,
Seem'd nobler than their hard Eternities.

My quick tears kill'd the flower, my ravings hush'd
The bird, and lost in utter grief I fail'd
To send my life thro' olive-yard and vine
And golden grain, my gift to helpless man.
Rain-rotten died the wheat, the barley-spears
Were hollow-husk'd, the leaf fell, and the sun,
Pale at my grief, drew down before his time
Sickening, and Ætna kept her winter snow.
Then He, the brother of this Darkness, He
Who still is highest, glancing from his height
On earth a fruitless fallow, when he miss'd
The wonted steam of sacrifice, the praise

And prayer of men, decreed that thou should'st dwell
For nine white moons of each whole year with me,
Three dark ones in the shadow with thy King.

Once more the reaper in the gleam of dawn
Will see me by the landmark far away,
Blessing his field, or seated in the dusk
Of even, by the lonely threshing-floor,
Rejoicing in the harvest and the grange.
Yet I, Earth-Goddess, am but ill-content

With them, who still are highest. Those gray heads,
What meant they by their "Fate beyond the Fates"
But younger kindlier Gods to bear us down,
As we bore down the Gods before us? Gods,
To quench, not hurl the thunderbolt, to stay,
Not spread the plague, the famine; Gods indeed,
To send the noon into the night and break
The sunless halls of Hades into Heaven?
Till thy dark lord accept and love the Sun,
And all the Shadow die into the Light,

When thou shalt dwell the whole bright year with me,

et mihi gens hominum, spatio quae vivit amatque clausa brevi, potior visa est quam morte carentum improba Maiestas: flores periere perusti imbre mei fletus-avium me lingua furente obticuit, luctuque infando perdita omisi fundere olivetis vitam et nascentibus uvis et segeti, ditant inopes quae dona colonos; imbre gravis seges et vacuis putebat aristis— conciderant folia-et luctu Sol pallida nostro ora gerens aegrum properavit condere lumen, servabatque nives quas bruma illeverat Aetna. tum suprema tenet rerum qui sceptra, coercet cui frater tenebras, squalentem et fruge carentem despiciens terram, quoniam desiderat arae nidores solitos, laudemque et vota precantum, hoc voluit-cum matre novem te degere menses, quot redeunt anni, nitidos; tres luce carentem cum Rege Umbrarum.

nunc rursus luce rubente Aurorae cernet, qua finit Terminus arvum, me fecundantem messor sua rura, vel umbram vesperis ad seram, cum iam silet area, laetam messe nova iuxta granaria laeta sedentem. ast ego Diva Parens Terrae dominantia rebus numina vix patior. quid enim vox illa Sororum canarum monuit, dominis maioribus olim parendum? stirpem venturam scilicet aevo auguror inde novo quae nos detrudat Olympo, ut prius antiquam expulimus-quae fulmina quondam iacta premat potius-quae pestem spargere nolit compescatque famem-mites iustoque colendos obsequio Divos, media qui luce diei

invadant noctem, et caelo diffissa recludant

Tartara, ut accipiat Phoebum Stygis iste tyrannus exsultans, omnisque in lumen transeat umbra. integra tunc una sub luce fovebimus anni

And souls of men, who grew beyond their race,
And made themselves as Gods against the fear
Of Death and Hell; and thou that hast from men,
As Queen of Death, that worship which is Fear,
Henceforth, as having risen from out the dead,
Shalt ever send thy life along with mine

From buried grain thro' springing blade, and bless
Their garner'd Autumn also, reap with me,
Earth-mother, in the harvest hymns of Earth
The worship which is Love, and see no more
The Stone, the Wheel, the dimly-glimmering lawns
Of that Elysium, all the hateful fires

Of torment, and the shadowy warrior glide
Along the silent field of Asphodel.

Tennyson.

CXXIII

AN EARTHLY PARADISE

Dreamer of dreams, born out of my due time,
Why should I strive to set the crooked straight?
Let it suffice me that my murmuring rhyme
Beats with light wing against the ivory gate,
Telling a tale not too importunate

To those who in the sleepy region stay,
Lulled by the singer of the empty day.

Folk say, a wizard to a northern king

At Christmas-tide such wondrous things did show,
That through one window men beheld the spring,
And through another saw the summer glow,
And through a third the fruited vines a-row,
While still unheard, but in its wonted way,
Piped the drear wind of that December day.

So with this Earthly Paradise it is,
If ye will read aright, and pardon me,
Who strive to build a shadowy isle of bliss
Midmost the beating of the steely sea,

Where tossed about all hearts of men must be;
Whose ravening monsters mighty men shall slay,
Not the poor singer of an empty day.

W. Morris.

tempora, cuin sanctis hominum quis contigit aevum exsuperasse suum, Divomque assumere sortem, nec mortis speciem nec formidantibus Orcum. tuque potens Leti, quam nunc suadente veretur gens humana metu, cum sis quasi rapta sepulcro, iuncta mea posthac tua fundes munera vitae semine ab occulto vegetam summissa per herbam, auctumnique beabis opes, mecumque frueris quem Pietas suadet cultum, cum messe coacta rustica me frugum celebrabit turba Parentem ; nec spectare Rotae dabitur Saxique labores, saltumve Elysii sublustrem, aut improba flammae supplicia, aut meritas narcisso consita labi bellatorum animas taciti super aequora campi.

H. K.

CXXIII

VIDEOR PIOS

ERRARE PER LUCOS, AMOENAE

QUOS ET AQUAE SUBEUNT ET AURAE.
Somnia me captant: cur haec in secula vixi?
scilicet extricare meum est incommoda vitae ?
sit satis exili si murmure pulsat eburnam
carminis ala mei portam, si detinet aures
fabula sopitas non importuna colentum
Morpheos umbrosas sedes, quis carmina vatis
dulcia cantantis vacui simulacra diei.

visa magus, sic fama refert, miranda tyranno
litoris Arctoi ostendit sub tempore brumae,
adspicerent homines una ut ver dulce fenestra,
aestivos soles monstraret proxima, foetu
tertia vestitos antes, gravidisque racemis:
sibilat interea solito de more December
tristis, inauditoque adspirant flamine Cauri.
haud secus Elysium nobis terrestre creatum est:
vos modo, lectores, ignoscite; iura poetae
sint sua, qui temptat sibi fingere rura beata,
quae ferrugineum adsidue circumtonet aequor,
conflictamur ubi nos nostraque; debuit heros
adsciri vobis, qui monstra natantia caedat,
non vates, horas qui carmine fallit inanes.

CXXIV

THE SWIMMER'S WISH

Fresh from the summer wave, under the beech,
Looking through leaves with a far-darting eye,
Tossing those river-pearled locks about,
Throwing those delicate limbs straight out,
Chiding the clouds as they sailed out of reach,
Murmured the swimmer, I wish I could fly.

Laugh, if you like, at the bold reply,

Answer disdainfully, flouting my words; How should a listener at simple sixteen Guess what a foolish old rhymer could mean Calmly predicting "you will surely fly,"

Fish one might vie with, but how be like birds? Sweet maiden-fancies, at present they range Close to a sister's engarlanded brows,

Over the diamonds a mother will wear,

In the false flowers to be shaped for her hair-
Slow glide the hours to thee, late be the change,

Long be thy rest 'neath the cool beechen boughs!

Genius and love will uplift thee: not yet.

Walk through some passionless years by my side, Chasing the silly sheep, snapping the lily stalk, Drawing my secrets forth, witching my soul with talk. When the sap stays, and the blossom is set,

Others will take the fruit, I shall have died.
W. Johnson Cory.

CXXV

PEACE, PEACE

Ye have not sowed in vain!

Though the heavens seem as brass,

And piercing the crust of the burning plain

Ye scan not a blade of grass;

Yet there is life within,

And waters of life on high;

One morn ye shall wake, and the spring's soft green

O'er the moistened fields shall lie.

Lyra Anglicana.