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To those who in the sleepy region stay, Lull'd by the singer of an empty day.

Then, smiling, did he turn to leave the

place, But with his first step some new fleeting

thought A shadow cast across his sun-burn'd face ; I think the golden net that April brought From some warm world his wavering soul

had caught; For, sunk in vague, sweet longing, did he

go Betwixt the trees with doubtful steps and


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, Pip'd 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 toss'd about all hearts of men must

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be ;

Whose ravening monsters mighty men

shall slay, Not the poor singer of an empty day.

So thitherward he turn'd, and on each

side The folk were busy on the teeming land, And man and maid from the brown fur

rows cried, Or ʼmidst the newly blossom’d vines did

stand, And, as the rustic weapon press'd the

hand, Thought of the nodding of the well-fill'd

ear, Or how the knife the heavy bunch should


ATALANTA'S VICTORY Through thick Arcadian woods a hunter

went, Following the beasts up, on a fresh spring

day ; But since his horn-tipp'd bow but seldom

bent, Now at the noontide nought had happ'd to

slay, Within a vale he call'd his hounds away, Hearkening the echoes of his lone voice

cling About the cliffs, and through the beech-trees

ring But when they ended, still awhile he

stood, And but the sweet familiar thrush could

hear, And all the day-long noises of the wood, And o'er the dry leaves of the vanish'd

year His hounds' feet pattering as they drew

anear, And heavy breathing from their heads low To see the mighty cornel bow unstrung.

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Through such fair things unto the gates A golden circlet of renown he wore, he came,

And in his hand an olive garland bore. And found them open, as though peace were there ;

But on this day with whom shall he conWherethrough, unquestion’d of his race or

tend ? name,

A maid stood by him like Diana clad He enter'd, and along the streets 'gan fare, When in the woods she lists her bow to Which at the first of folk were well-nigh

bend, bare ;

Too fair for one to look on and be glad, But pressing on, and going more hastily, Who scarcely yet has thirty summers had, Men hurrying, too, he 'gan at last to see. If he must still behold her from afar ;

Too fair to let the world live free from war. Following the last of these, he still press'd on,

She seem'd all earthly matters to forget ; Until an open space he came unto,

Of all tormenting lines her face was clear; Where wreaths of fame had oft been lost Her wide gray eyes upon the goal were and won,

set For feats of strength folk there were wont Calm and unmov'd as though no soul were

to do. And now our hunter look’d for something But her foe trembled as a man in fear, new,

Nor from her loveliness one moment turn'd Because the whole wide space was bare, His anxious face with fierce desire that and stillid

burn'd. The high seats were, with eager people fill'd.

Now through the hush there broke the

trumpet's clang There with the others to a seat he gat, Just as the setting sun made eventide. Whence he beheld a broider'd canopy, Then from light feet a spurt of dust there 'Neath which in fair array King Schøneus

sprang, sat

And swiftly were they running side by side ; Upon his throne with councillors thereby ; But silent did the thronging folk abide And underneath this well-wrought seat and Until the turning-post was reach'd at last, high

And round about it still abreast they past. He saw a golden image of the sun, A silver image of the Fleet-foot One. But when the people saw how close they

ran, A brazen altar stood beneath their feet When half-way to the starting-point they Whereon a thin flame flicker'd in the wind ;

were, Nigh this a herald clad in raiment meet A cry of joy broke forth, whereat the man Made ready even now his horn to wind, Headed the white-foot runner, and drew By whom a huge man held a sword, entwin'd

Unto the very end of all his fear; With yellow flowers ; these stood a little And scarce his straining feet the ground space

could feel, From off the altar, nigh the starting place. And bliss unhop'd for o'er his heart 'gan

steal. And there two runners did the sign abide,

But 'midst the loud victorious shouts he Foot set to foot, a young man slim and

heard fair,

Her footsteps drawing nearer, and the Crisp-hair'd, well knit, with firm limbs

sound often tried

Of fluttering raiment, and thereat afeard In places where no man his strength may His flush'd and eager face he turn'd spare :

around, Dainty his thin coat was, and on his hair And even then he felt her past him bound


die ;



see ;

Fleet as the wind, but scarcely saw her But yet — wbat change is this that holds there

the maid ? Till on the goal she laid her fingers fair. Does she indeed see in his glittering eye

More than disdain of the sharp shearing There stood she breathing like a little blade, child

Some happy hope of help and victory? Amid some warlike clamor laid asleep, The others seem'd to say, “We come to For no victorious joy her red lips smil'd, Her cheek its wonted freshness did but Look down upon us for a little while, keep;

That, dead, we may bethink us of thy No glance lit up her clear gray eyes and

smile." deep, Though some divine thought soften'd all But he — what look of mastery was this her face

He cast on her ? why were his lips so red ? As once more rang the trumpet through the Why was his face so flush'd with happiness? place.

So looks not one who deems himself but

dead, But her late foe stopp'd short amidst his E’en if to death he bows a willing head ; course,

So rather looks a god well pleas'd to find One moment gaz'd upon her piteously, Some earthly damsel fashion’d to his mind. Then with a groan his lingering feet did force

Why must she drop her lids before his To leave the spot whence he her eyes could


And even as she casts adown her eyes And, changed like one who knows his time Redden to note his eager glance of praise, must be

And wish that she were clad in other But short and bitter, without any word

guise ? He knelt before the bearer of the sword; Why must the memory to her heart arise

Of things unnoticed when they first were Then high rose up the gleaming deadly heard, blade,

Some lover's song, some answering maiden's Bar'd of its flowers, and through the

word ? crowded place Was silence now, and midst of it the What makes these longings, vague, withmaid

out a name, Went by the poor wretch at a gentle And this vain pity never felt before, pace,

This sudden languor, this contempt of And he to hers upturn'd his sad white fame,

This tender sorrow for the time past o'er, Nor did his eyes behold another sight These doubts that grow each minute more Ere on his soul there fell eternal night.

and more?

Why does she tremble as the time grows ATALANTA'S DEFEAT


And weak defeat and woeful victory fear? Now has the lingering month at last gone by,

But while she seem'd to hear her beatAgain are all folk round the running ing heart, place,

Above their heads the trumpet blast rang Nor other seems the dismal pageantry

out Than heretofore, but that another face And forth they sprang, and she must play Looks o'er the smooth course ready for the

her part ; race,

Then flew her white feet, knowing not a For now, beheld of all, Milanion

doubt, Stands on the spot he twice has look'd Though, slackening once, she turn'd her upon.

head about,

face ;


she ran,

But then she cried aloud and faster fled To keep the double prize, and strenuously Tban e'er before, and all men deem'd him Sped o'er the course, and little doubt bad dead.


To win the day, though now but scanty But with no sound he rais'd aloft his

space hand,

Was left betwixt him and the winning And thence what seem'd a ray of light place.

there flew And past the maid rollid on along the sand ; Short was the way unto such winged Then trembling she her feet together drew, And in her heart a strong desire there Quickly she gain'd upon him, till at last grew

He turn'd about her eager eyes to meet, To have the toy ; some god she thought And from his hand the third fair apple had given

cast. That gift to her, to make of earth a She waver'd not, but turn'd and ran so heaven.


After the prize that should her bliss fulfil, Then from the course with eager steps That in her hand it lay ere it was still. And in her odorous bosom laid the gold. Nor did she rest, but turn'd about to But when she turn'd again, the great

win limb'd man,

Once more an unbless'd woeful victory Now well ahead, she fail'd not to behold, And yet — and yet — why does her breath And, mindful of her glory waxing cold,

begin Sprang up and follow'd him in hot pur- To fail her, and her feet drag heavily? suit,

Why fails she now to see if far or nigh Though with one hand she touch'd the The goal is ? why do her gray eyes grow golden fruit.


Why do these tremors run through every Note, too, the bow that she was wont to

limb ? bear She laid aside to grasp the glittering prize, She spreads her arms abroad some stay And o'er her shoulder from the quiver fair

to find, Three arrows fell and lay before her eyes Else must she fall, indeed, and findeth Unnoticed, as amidst the people's cries

this, She sprang to head the strong Milanion, A strong man's arms about her body enWho now the turning-post had well-nigh twin'd.


may she shudder now to feel his kiss,

So wrapt she is in new unbroken bliss : But as he set his mighty hand on it Made happy that the foe the prize hath White fingers underneath his own were laid,

She weeps glad tears for all her glory And white limbs from his dazzled eyes did

Then he the second fruit cast by the maid,

But she ran on awhile, then as afraid
Waver'd and stopp'd, and turn’d and made So long he rode he drew anigh
no stay

A mill upon the river's brim,
Until the globe with its bright fellow lay. That seem'd a goodly place to him,

For o'er the oily smooth millhead Then, as a troubled glance she cast There hung the apples growing red, around,

And many an ancient apple-tree Now far ahead the Argive could she see,

Within the orchard could he see, And in her garment's hem one hand she While the smooth millwalls white and black wound

Shook to the great wheel's measur'd clack,



And grumble of the gear within ;

Who hoard their moments of felicity, While o'er the roof that dull’d that din As misers hoard the medals that they The doves sat crooning half the day,

tell, And round the half-cut stack of hay Lest on the earth but paupers they should The sparrows flutter'd twittering.

dwell : There smiling stay'd the joyous king, “We hide our love to bless another day ; And since the autumn noon was hot

The world is hard, youth passes quick,” Thought good anigh that pleasant spot

they say. To dine that day, and therewith sent To tell the miller his intent:

Ah, little ones, but if ye could forget Who held the stirrup of the king,

Amidst your outpour'd love that you must Bareheaded, joyful at the thing,

die, While from his horse he lit adown,

Then ye, my servants, were death's conThen led him o'er an elm-beam brown,

querors yet, New cut in February tide,

And love to you should be eternity That cross'd the stream from side to side ; How quick soever might the days go by : So underneath the apple trees

Yes, ye are made immortal on the day The king sat careless, well at ease,

Ye cease the dusty grains of time to And ate and drank right merrily.

weigh. To whom the miller drew anigh Among the courtiers, bringing there

Thou hearkenest, love? O, make no Such as he could of country fare,

semblance then Green yellowing plums from off his wall, Thou art beloved, but as thy wont is Wasp-bitten pears, the first to fall

Turn thy gray eyes away from eyes of From off the wavering spire-like tree,

men, Junkets, and cream and fresh honey. With hands down-dropp’d, that tremble

with thy bliss, SONG : TO PSYCHE

With hidden eyes, take thy first lover's

kiss ; O PENSIVE, tender maid, downcast and shy, Call this eternity which is to-day, Who turnest pale e'en at the name of Nor dream that this our love can pass love,

And with fush'd face must pass the elm-
tree by

Asham'd to hear the passionate gray dove
Moan to his mate, thee too the god sball Across the sea a land there is,

Where, if fate will, men may have bliss, Thee too the maidens shall ungird one For it is fair as any land : day,

There hath the reaper a full hand, And with thy girdle put thy shame away. While in the orchard hangs aloft

The purple fig, a-growing soft ; What then, and shall white winter ne'er And fair the trellis'd vine-bunches be done

Are swung across the high elm-trees; Because the glittering frosty morn is fair ? And in the rivers great fish play, Because against the early-setting sun

While over them pass day by day Bright show the gilded boughs though The laden barges to their place. waste and bare ?

There maids are straight, and fair of face, Because the robin singeth free from care ? And men are stout for husbandry, Ah! these are memories of a better day And all is well as it can be When on earth's face the lips of summer Upon this earth where all has end. lay.

For on them God is pleas'd to send

The gift of Death down from above, Come then, beloved one, for such as thee That envy, hatred, and hot love, Love loveth, and their hearts he knoweth Knowledge with hunger by his side, well,

And avarice and deadly pride,


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