And what is our failure here but a triumph's evidence For the fulness of the days? Have we withered or

agonized?

Why else was the pause prolonged but that singing might issue thence?

Why rushed the discords in, but that harmony should be prized?

Sorrow is hard to bear, and doubt is slow to clear, Each sufferer says his say, his scheme of the weal and woe:

But God has a few of us whom he whispers in the ear; The rest may reason and welcome: 'tis we musicians

know.

Well, it is earth with me; silence resumes her reign:
I will be patient and proud, and soberly acquiesce.
Give me the keys. I feel for the common chord again,
Sliding by semitones, till I sink to the minor,—yes,
And I blunt it into a ninth, and I stand on alien ground,
Surveying awhile the heights I rolled from into the

deep;

Which, hark, I have dared and done, for my restingplace is found,

The C Major of this life: so, now I will try to sleep. R. Browning.

quid, male si cessit quondam ? rem iudicat omnem finis: beat victoria non nisi promeritos. commendant liquidam diuturna silentia vocem, discordiasque post graves suavior harmonia est. dura quidem ferre et causas nescire malorum taedet pigetque: quae latent quaerere quid prohibet at nos Musarum famulos Deus erudit ipse,

auresque tangit: nil boni turba profana sapit.

devehor en caelo, conduntque silentia noctem : pleno resido pectore: summa petisse sat est. Organa da: temptante manu tetrachorda pererrans sensim relabor in modos mollius Ionios; ignotisque innixa locis vestigia pono

immensa dum lustro vagis avia luminibus; mox in vasta volans pelage feror harmoniarum Lydo remixtis tibiis carmine vel Phrygio; dein stabile et placidum melos ordior, ausus et illa, sonante plectro Dorium. sic mihi parta quies.

F. W. C.

XLIII

THE WORLD'S AGE

Who will say the world is dying?
Who will say our prime is past?
Sparks from Heaven, within us lying,
Flash, and will flash till the last.
Fools! who fancy Christ mistaken;
Man a tool to buy and sell;
Earth a failure, God-forsaken,
Anteroom of Hell.

Still the race of Hero-spirits

Pass the lamp from hand to hand ;
Age from Age the words inherits-
"Wife, and Child, and Fatherland."
Still the youthful hunter gathers

Fiery joy from wold and wood;
He will dare as dared his fathers
Give him cause as good.

While a slave bewails his fetters;
While an orphan pleads in vain ;
While an infant lisps his letters,
Heir of all the ages' gain;
While a lip grows ripe for kissing ;
While a moan from man is wrung;
Know, by every want and blessing,
That the world is young.

C. Kingsley.

XLIII

VITAI LAMPADA TRADUNT

Saecula quis dicet moribunda senescere rerum,
quis vernos hominum praeteriisse dies?
scintillae tamen usque manent divinitus ortae
aeternumque micant quae micuere faces.
demens! qui Christum credit nihil edere veri,
cui pro merce homines posse videntur emi,
qui terram sine lege putat sine numine natam,
aulae vestibulum, Dis inimice, tuae.

usque adeo generi per saecula longa virili
lampada transmittit non minus acre genus.
quique abeunt clamant annis venientibus anni
'pro patria, natis, coniuge dulce mori est.'
fervida adhuc iuvenis nemorum venator in umbra
gaudia et in solo carpit ut ante iugo.
audebit, quodcunque patres sublimius ausi,
ingenio stimulos par modo causa ferat.

dum gemet immiti languens sub compede servus,
dum fundet vanas orba puella preces,
dumque susurrabit fractis vagitibus heres,
temporis immensae cui cumulantur opes,
dulcia dum roseum mitescet in oscula labrum,
pectora dum gemitu stringet anhela dolor,

quidquid deest, unum docet hoc et quidquid abundat, fecundo vivax semen inesse solo.

XLIV

Then on the brows of the maiden a veil bound Pallas

Athene ;

Ample it fell to her feet, deep-fringed, a wonder of

weaving.

Ages and ages agone it was wrought on the heights of Olympus,

Wrought in the gold-strung loom, by the finger of cunning Athene.

In it she wove all creatures that teem in the womb of the ocean;

Nereid, Siren, and Triton, and dolphin and arrowy fishes

Glittering round, many-hued, on the flame-red folds of the mantle.

In it she wove, too, a town where grey-haired kings sat in judgment;

Sceptre in hand in the market they sat, doing right by the people,

Wise: while above watched Justice, and near, farseeing Apollo.

Over the limbs of the damsel she wrapt it: the maid still trembled,

Shading her face with her hands: for the eyes of the goddess were awful.

Then as a pine upon Ida when southwest winds blow

landward,

Stately she bent to the damsel, and breathed on her: under her breathing

Taller and fairer she grew; and the goddess spoke in her wisdom.

Courage I give thee; the heart of a queen, and the

mind of Immortals,

Godlike to talk with the gods, and to look on their eyes unshrinking, . . .

Chastely and wisely to govern thyself and thy house and thy people,

Bearing a god-like race to thy spouse, till dying I set

thee

High for a star in the heavens, a sign and a hope to

the seamen."

C. Kingsley.