Then from the course with eager steps she ran, And in her odorous bosom laid the gold. But when she turned again, the great-limbed man, Now well ahead she failed not to behold,

And mindful of her glory waxing cold,
Sprang up and followed him in hot pursuit,
Though with one hand she touched the golden fruit.

Note too, the bow that she was wont to bear
She laid aside to grasp the glittering prize,
And o'er her shoulder from the quiver fair
Three arrows fell and lay before her eyes
Unnoticed, as amidst the people's cries
She sprang to head the strong Milanion,
Who now the turning-post had well nigh won.

But as he set his mighty hand on it
White fingers underneath his own were laid,
And white limbs from his dazzled eyes did flit,
Then he the second fruit cast by the maid:
But she ran on awhile, then as afraid

Wavered and stopped, and turned and made no stay,
Until the globe with its bright fellow lay.

Then, as a troubled glance she cast around
Now far ahead the Argive could she see,
And in her garment's hem one hand she wound
To keep the double prize, and strenuously
Sped o'er the course, and little doubt had she
To win the day, though now but scanty space
Was left betwixt him and the winning place.

Short was the way unto such winged feet,
Quickly she gained upon him till at last
He turned about her eager eyes to meet
And from his hand the third fair apple cast.
She wavered not, but turned and ran so fast
After the prize that should her bliss fulfil,
That in her hand it lay ere it was still.

Nor did she rest, but turned about to win Once more, an unblest woeful victoryAnd yet and yet-why does her breath begin To fail her, and her feet drag heavily? Why fails she now to see if far or nigh The goal is? why do her grey eyes grow dim? Why do these tremors run through every limb?

She spreads her arms abroad some stay to find Else must she fall, indeed, and findeth this, A strong man's arms about her body twined. Nor may she shudder now to feel his kiss, So wrapped she is in new unbroken bliss: Made happy that the foe the prize hath won, She weeps glad tears for all her glory done.

Shatter the trumpet, hew adown the posts! Upon the brazen altar break the sword, And scatter incense to appease the ghosts Of those who died here by their own award. Bring forth the image of the mighty Lord, And her who unseen o'er the runners hung, And did a deed for ever to be sung.

Here are the gathered folk; make no delay Open King Schoneus' well-filled treasury, Bring out the gifts long hid from light of day, The golden bowls o'erwrought with imagery, Gold chains, and unguents brought from over sea, The saffron gown the old Phoenician brought, Within the temple of the Goddess wrought.

O ye, O damsels, who shall never see
Her, that Love's servant bringeth now to you,
Returning from another victory,

In some cool bower do all that now is due!
Since she in token of her service new
Shall give to Venus offerings rich enow,
Her maiden zone, her arrows, and her bow.

LOVE IS ENOUGH.

1873.

WILLIAM MORRIS.

THE MUSIC.

1. THE FIRST LYRIC.

is the World be a-waning

And the woods have no voice but the voice of

complaining,

Though the sky be too dark for dim eyes to discover The gold-cups and daisies fair blooming thereunder, Though the hills be held shadows, and the sea a dark

wonder,

And this day draw a veil over all deeds passed over, Yet their hands shall not tremble, their feet shall not falter ; The void shall not weary, the fear shall not alter These lips and these eyes of the loved and the lover.

II. THE CONCLUDING LYRIC.

Love is enough: ho ye who seek saving,

Go no further; come hither; there have been who
have found it,

And these know the House of Fulfilment of Craving;
These know the Cup with the roses around it;
These know the World's wound and the balm that
hath bound it :

Cry out, the World heedeth not, 'Love, lead us home!'

He leadeth, He hearkeneth, He cometh to you-ward; Set your faces as steel to the fears that assemble Round his goad for the faint, and his scourge for the froward:

Lo his lips, how with tales of last kisses they tremble! Lo his eyes of all sorrow that may not dissemble! Cry out, for he heedeth, 'O Love, lead us home.'

O hearken the words of his voice of compassion : 'Come cling round about me, ye faithful who sicken

Of the weary unrest and the world's passing fashion! As the rain in mid-morning your troubles shall thicken,

But surely within you some Godhead doth quicken, As ye cry to me heeding, and leading you home.

'Come-pain ye shall have, and be blind to the ending!

Come-fear ye shall have, mid the sky's overcasting! Come-change ye shall have, for far are ye wending! Come-no crown ye shall have for your thirst and your fasting,

But the kissed lips of Love and fair life everlasting! Cry out, for one heedeth, who leadeth you home!'

Is he gone? was he with us?-ho ye who seek saving, Gonofurther; come hither; for have we not found it? Here is the House of Fulfilment of Craving;

Here is the Cup with the roses around it;

The World's wound well healed, and the balm that hath bound it :

Cry out! for he heedeth, fair Love that led home.