With heavy head, and thyrsus held askew, BERYL. (The Sirens.) LASTLY, with" Pleasure" was a Beryl graven, Clear-hued, divine. Thereon the Sirens sung. What time, beneath, by rough rock-bases caven, And jaw-like rifts where many a green bone clung, The strong flood-tide, in-rushing, coiled and swung. Then, in the offing, on the lift of the sea, - A tall ship drawing shoreward—helplessly. Ah me, those Women-witches of the Deep! VOL. I.-13 THE SICK MAN AND THE BIRDS. SPRING, EÆGROTUS. art thou come, O Spring! I am too sick for words; How hast thou heart to sing, O Spring, with all thy birds? MERULA. I sing for joy to see again The merry leaves along the lane, And look, my love upon the bough! ÆGROTUS. Ah! weary is the sun : Love is an idle thing; HIRUNDO. By shore and sea I come and go To seek I know not what; and lo! On no man's eaves I sit But voices bid me rise once more, ÆGROTUS. This is Earth's bitter cup: ALAUDA. A secret Spirit gifteth me "Wake! wake!" ÆGROTUS. My hope hath lost its wing. Thou, that to Night dost call, How hast thou heart to sing Thy tears made musical? PHILOMELA. Alas for me! a dry desire Is all my song, a waste of fire That will not fade nor fail; |